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SARA    CREWE 


WHAT    HAPPENED    AT   MISS   MINCHIN'S 


BY   THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


LITTLE    LORD    FAUNTLEROY 

Beautifully  Illustrated  by  R.  B.  BIRCH. 
Square  8vo,   handsomely  bound,      •         -        -      $2.00 


' '  In  'Little  Lord  Fauntleroy  '  ioe  gain  another  charming  child  to 
ad.'  to  our  gallery  of  juvenile  heroes  a?zd  heroines  ;  one  who  teaches  a 
great  lesson  -with  such  truth  and  sweetness,  that  -uue  part  with  him 
with  real  regret  when  the  episode  is  oz'er." — Louisa  M.  Alcott. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/saracreweorwhathburnett 


SHE   LAID    HER   DOLL,    EMILY,    ACROSS    HER    KNEES,    AND    PUT    HER   FACE   DOWN   UPON   HER,    AND    HER 
ARMS   AROUND   HER,    AND    SAT  THERE,    NOT    SAYING  ONE   WORD,    NOT   MAKING  ONE   SOUND." 


SARA    CREWE 


OR 


WHAT   HAPPENED   AT   MISS   MINCHIN'S 


FRANCES    HODGSON   BURNETT 


NEW    YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 


Copyright,  18S8,   by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS. 

[Att  riglits  reserved.^ 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co., 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


LIST     OF     I LLUS  T  RAT  I  ONS. 

FROM  DRAWINGS  BY  REGINALD  B.  BIRCH. 

"She  laid  her  doll,  Emily,  across  her  knees,  and  put  her  face  down  upon 
her,  and  her  arms  around  her,  and  sat  there,  not  saying  one  word, 
not  making  one  sound."  .        .         .        .        .    Frontispiece. 

"  She  slowly  advanced  into  the  parlor,  clutching  her  doll."       .       Page  15 

"Eat  it,"  said  Sara,  "  arid  you  will  not  be  so  hungry."      .  "    41 

"  He  was  waiting  for  his  Master  to  come  out  to  the  carriage, 

and  Sara  stopped  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  him."  .        .         "47 

"  The  monkey  seemed  much  interested  in  her  remarks."         .  "    63 

"He  drew   her  small,  dark  head  down  upon   his  knee  and 

stroked  her  hair." "79 


T 


SARA  CREWE; 

OR, 

WHAT   HAPPENED   AT   MISS  MINCHIN'S. 


IN  the  first  place,  Miss  Minchin  lived  in  London.  Her  home 
was  a  large,  dull,  tall  one,  in  a  large,  dull  square,  where  all 
the  houses  were  alike,  and  all  the  sparrows  were  alike,  and 
where  all  the  door-knockers  made  the  same  heavy  sound,  and 
on  still  days — and  nearly  all  the  days  were  still — seemed  to 
resound  through  the  entire  row  in  which  the  knock  was 
knocked.  On  Miss  Minchin's  door  there  was  a  brass  plate. 
On  the  brass  plate  there  was  inscribed  in  black  letters, 


MISS  MINCHIN'S 
SELECT  SEMINARY  FOR  YOUNG  LADIES. 


Little  Sara  Crewe  never  went  in  or  out  of  the  house  with- 
out reading  that  door-plate  and  reflecting  upon  it.  By  the 
time  she  was  twelve,  she  had  decided  that  all  her  trouble 
arose  because,  in  the  first  place,  she  was  not  "  Select,"  and  in 


SARA    CREWE;   OR, 


the  second,  she  was  not  a  "Young  Lady."  When  she  was 
eight  years  old,  she  had  been  brought  to  Miss  Minchin  as  a 
pupil,  and  left  with  her.  Her  papa  had  brought  her  all  the 
way  from  India.  Her  mamma  had  died  when  she  was  a  baby, 
and  her  papa  had  kept  her  with  him  as  long  as  he  could. 
And  then,  finding  the  hot  climate  was  making  her  very  deli- 
cate, he  had  brought  her  to  England  and  left  her  with  Miss 
Minchin,  to  be  part  of  the  Select  Seminary  for  Young 
Ladies.  Sara,  who  had  always  been  a  sharp  little  child,  who 
remembered  things,  recollected  hearing  him  say  that  he  had 
not  a  relative  in  the  world  whom  he  knew  of,  and  so  he  was 
obliged  to  place  her  at  a  boarding-school,  and  he  had  heard 
Miss  Minchin's  establishment  spoken  of  very  highly.  The 
same  day,  he  took  Sara  out  and  bought  her  a  great  many  beau- 
tiful clothes— clothes  so  grand  and  rich  that  only  a  very  young 
and  inexperienced  man  would  have  bought  them  for  a  mite 
of  a  child  who  was  to  be  brought  up  in  a  boarding-school. 
But  the  fact  was  that  he  was  a  rash,  innocent  young  man,  and 
very  sad  at  the  thought  of  parting  with  his  little  girl,  who 
was  all  he  had  left  to  remind  him  of  her  beautiful  mother, 
whom  he  had  dearly  loved.  And  he  wished  her  to  have  every- 
thing the  most  fortunate  little  girl  could  have  ;  and  so,  when 
the  polite  saleswomen  in  the  shops  said,  "  Here  is  our  very 
latest  thing  in  hats,  the  plumes  are  exactly  the  same  as  those 
we  sold  to  Lady  Diana  Sinclair  yesterday,"  he  immediately 
bought  what  was  offered  to  him,  and  paid  whatever  was  asked. 
The  consequence  was  that  Sara  had  a  most  extraordinary  ward- 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  n 

robe.  Her  dresses  were  silk  and  velvet  and  India  cashmere, 
her  hats  and  bonnets  were  covered  with  bows  and  plumes, 
her  small  undergarments  were  adorned  with  real  lace,  and  she 
returned  in  the  cab  to  Miss  Minchin's  with  a  doll  almost  as 
large  as  herself,  dressed  quite  as  grandly  as  herself,  too. 

Then  her  papa  gave  Miss  Minchin  some  money  and  went 
away,  and  for  several  days  Sara  would  neither  touch  the 
doll,  nor  her  breakfast,  nor  her  dinner,  nor  her  tea,  and  would 
do  nothing  but  crouch  in  a  small  corner  by  the  window  and 
cry.  She  cried  so  much,  indeed,  that  she  made  herself  ill. 
She  was  a  queer  little  child,  with  old-fashioned  ways  and 
strong  feelings,  and  she  had  adored  her  papa,  and  could  not 
be  made  to  think  that  India  and  an  interesting  bungalow  were 
not  better  for  her  than  London  and  Miss  Minchin's  Select 
Seminary.  The  instant  she  had  entered  the  house,  she  had 
begun  promptly  to  hate  Miss  Minchin,  and  to  think  little  of 
Miss  Amelia  Minchin,  who  was  smooth  and  dumpy,  and 
lisped,  and  was  evidently  afraid  of  her  older  sister.  Miss 
Minchin  was  tall,  and  had  large,  cold,  fishy  eyes,  and  large, 
cold  hands,  which  seemed  fishy,  too,  because  they  were  damp 
and  made  chills  run  down  Sara's  back  when  they  touched 
her,  as  Miss  Minchin  pushed  her  hair  off  her  forehead  and 
said  : 

"  A  most  beautiful  and  promising  little  girl,  Captain 
Crewe.  She  will  be  a  favorite  pupil  ;  quite  a  favorite  pupil, 
see. 

For  the  first  year  she  was  a  favorite  pupil  ;  at  least  she 


12  SARA   CREWE;   OR, 

was  indulged  a  great  deal  more  than  was  good  for  her.  And 
when  the  Select  Seminary  went  walking,  two  by  two,  she  was 
always  decked  out  in  her  grandest  clothes,  and  led  by  the 
hand,  at  the  head  of  the  genteel  procession,  by  Miss  Minchin 
herself.  And  when  the  parents  of  any  of  the  pupils  came, 
she  was  always  dressed  and  called  into  the  parlor  with  her 
doll  ;  and  she  used  to  hear  Miss  Minchin  say  that  her  father 
was  a  distinguished  Indian  officer,  and  she  would  be  heiress 
to  a  great  fortune.  That  her  father  had  inherited  a  great 
deal  of  money,  Sara  had  heard  before  ;  and  also  that  some 
day  it  would  be  hers,  and  that  he  would  not  remain  long  in 
the  army,  but  would  come  to  live  in  London.  And  every 
time  a  letter  came,  she  hoped  it  would  say  he  was  coming, 
and  they  were  to  live  together  again. 

But  about  the  middle  of  the  third  year  a  letter  came  bring- 
ing very  different  news.  Because  he  was  not  a  business  man 
himself,  her  papa  had  given  his  affairs  into  the  hands  of  a 
friend  he  trusted.  The  friend  had  deceived  and  robbed  him. 
All  the  money  was  gone,  no  one  knew  exactly  where,  and  the 
shock  was  so  great  to  the  poor,  rash  young  officer,  that,  being 
attacked  by  jungle  fever  shortly  afterward,  he  had  no  strength 
to  rally,  and  so  died,  leaving  Sara  with  no  one  to  take  care 
of  her. 

Miss  Minchin's  cold  and  fishy  eyes  had  never  looked  so 
cold  and  fishy  as  they  did  when  Sara  went  into  the  parlor, 
on  being  sent  for,  a  few  days  after  the  letter  was  received. 

No  one  had  said  anything  to  the  child  about  mourning, 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN' S.  13 

so,  in  her  old-fashioned  way,  she  had  decided  to  find  a  black 
dress  for  herself,  and  had  picked  out  a  black  velvet  she  had 
outgrown,  and  came  into  the  room  in  it,  looking  the  queer- 
est little  figure  in  the  world,  and  a  sad  little  figure  too.  The 
dress  was  too  short  and  too  tight,  her  face  was  white,  her  eyes 
had  dark  rings  around  them,  and  her  doll,  wrapped  in  a  piece 
of  old  black  crape,  was  held  under  her  arm.  She  was  not  a 
pretty  child.  She  was  thin,  and  had  a  weird,  interesting  little 
face,  short  black  hair,  and  very  large,  green-gray  eyes  fringed 
all  around  with  heavy  black  lashes. 

"  I  am  the  ugliest  child  in  the  school,"  she  had  said  once, 
after  staring  at  herself  in  the  glass  for  some  minutes. 

But  there  had  been  a  clever,  good-natured  little  French 
teacher  who  had  said  to  the  music-master : 

"Zat  leetle  Crewe.  Vat  a  child  !  A  so  ogly  beauty  !  Ze 
so  large  eyes  !  zeso  little  spirituelle  face.  Waid  till  she  grow 
up.      You  shall  see  !  " 

This  morning,  however,  in  the  tight,  small  black  frock,  she 
looked  thinner  and  odder  than  ever,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  Miss  Minchin  with  a  queer  steadiness  as  she  slowly  ad- 
vanced into  the  parlor,  clutching  her  doll. 

"  Put  your  doll  down  ! "  said  Miss  Minchin. 
'No,"  said  the  child,  "  I  won't  put  her  down;   I  want  her 
with  me.      She  is  all  I  have.      She  has  stayed  with  me  all  the 
time  since  my  papa  died." 

She  had  never  been  an  obedient  child.  She  had  had  her 
own  way  ever  since  she  was  born,  and  there  was  about  her 


i4  SARA    CREWE j    OR, 

an  air  of  silent  determination  under  which  Miss  Minchin  had 
always  felt  secretly  uncomfortable.  And  that  lady  felt  even 
now  that  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  not  to  insist  on  her 
point.     So  she  looked  at  her  as  severely  as  possible. 

"You  will  have  no  time  for  dolls  in  future,"  she  said; 
"you  will  have  to  work  and  improve  yourself,  and  make 
yourself  useful." 

Sara  kept  the  big  odd  eyes  fixed  on  her  teacher  and  said 
nothing. 

"  Everything  will  be  very  different  now,"  Miss  Minchin 
went  on.  "I  sent  for  you  to  talk  to  you  and  make  you 
understand.  Your  father  is  dead.  You  have  no  friends. 
You  have  no  money.  You  have  no  home  and  no  one  to 
take  care  of  you." 

The  little  pale  olive  face  twitched  nervously,  but  the 
green-gray  eyes  did  not  move  from  Miss  Minchin's,  and 
still  Sara  said  nothing. 

"What  are  you  staring  at?"  demanded  Miss  Minchin 
sharply.  "  Are  you  so  stupid  you  don't  understand  what 
I  mean  ?  I  tell  you  that  you  are  quite  alone  in  the  world, 
and  have  no  one  to  do  anything  for  you,  unless  I  choose 
to  keep  you  here." 

The  truth  was,  Miss  Minchin  was  in  her  worst  mood. 
To  be  suddenly  deprived  of  a  large  sum  of  money  yearly 
and  a  show  pupil,  and  to  find  herself  with  a  little  beggar  on 
her  hands,  was  more  than  she  could  bear  with  any  degree 
of  calmness. 


SHE   SLOWLY    ADVANCED    INTO    THE    PARLOR,    CLUTCHING   HER   DOLL." 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  17 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  she  went  on,  "  and  remember  what 
I  say.  If  you  work  hard  and  prepare  to  make  yourself  use- 
ful in  a  few  years,  I  shall  let  you  stay  here.  You  are  only 
a  child,  but  you  are  a  sharp  child,  and  you  pick  up  things 
almost  without  being  taught.  You  speak  French  very  well, 
and  in  a  year  or  so  you  can  begin  to  help  with  the 
younger  pupils.  By  the  time  you  are  fifteen  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  do  that  much  at  least." 

"  I  can  speak  French  better  than  you,  now,"  said  Sara ; 
"  I  always  spoke  it  with  my  papa  in  India."  Which  was 
not  at  all  polite,  but  was  painfully  true  ;  because  Miss  Min- 
chin  could  not  speak  French  at  all,  and,  indeed,  was  not  in 
the  least  a  clever  person.  But  she  was  a  hard,  grasping 
business  woman ;  and,  after  the  first  shock  of  disappoint- 
ment, had  seen  that  at  very  little  expense  to  herself  she 
might  prepare  this  clever,  determined  child  to  be  very  use- 
ful to  her  and  save  her  the  necessity  of  paying  large  sala- 
ries to  teachers  of  languages. 

"  Don't  be  impudent,  or  you  will  be  punished,"  she  said. 
"  You  will  have  to  improve  your  manners  if  you  expect  to 
earn  your  bread.  You  are  not  a  parlor  boarder  now.  Re- 
member that  if  you  don't  please  me,  and  I  send  you  away, 
you  have  no  home  but  the  street.     You  can  go  now." 

Sara  turned  away. 

"Stay,"  commanded  Miss  Minchin,  "don't  you  intend  to 
thank  me  ? " 

Sara  turned  toward  her.     The  nervous  twitch  was  to  be 


SARA    CREWE;   OR, 


seen  again  in  her  face,  and  she  seemed  to  be  trying  to  con- 
trol it. 

"  What  for  ?"  she  said. 

"  For  my  kindness  to  you,"  replied  Miss  Minchin.  "  For 
my  kindness  in  giving  you  a  home." 

Sara  went  two  or  three  steps  nearer  to  her.  Her  thin  little 
chest  was  heaving  up  and  down,  and  she  spoke  in  a  strange, 
unchildish  voice. 

"You  are  not  kind,"  she  said.  "You  are  not  kind." 
And  she  turned  again  and  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
Miss  Minchin  staring  after  her  strange,  small  figure  in  stony 
anger. 

The  child  walked  up  the  staircase,  holding  tightly  to  her 
doll  ;  she  meant  to  go  to  her  bedroom,  but  at  the  door  she 
was  met  by  Miss  Amelia. 

"You  are  not  to  go  in  there,"  she  said.  "  That  is  not 
your  room  now." 

"  Where  is  my  room  ?  "  asked  Sara. 

"You  are  to  sleep  in  the  attic  next  to  the  cook." 

Sara  walked  on.  She  mounted  two  flights  more,  and 
reached  the  door  of  the  attic  room,  opened  it  and  went  in, 
shutting  it  behind  her.  She  stood  against  it  and  looked 
about  her.  The  room  was  slanting-roofed  and  whitewashed  ; 
there  was  a  rusty  grate,  an  iron  bedstead,  and  some  odd 
articles  of  furniture,  sent  up  from  better  rooms  below,  where 
they  had  been  used  until  they  were  considered  to  be  worn 
out.      Under  the  skylight  in  the  roof,  which  showed  nothing 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  19 

but  an  oblong  piece    of  dull   gray  sky,  there  was  a  battered 
old  red  footstool. 

Sara  went  to  it  and  sat  down.  She  was  a  queer  child,  as 
I  have  said  before,  and  quite  unlike  other  children.  She 
seldom  cried.  She  did  not  cry  now.  She  laid  her  doll, 
Emily,  across  her  knees,  and  put  her  face  down  upon  her, 
and  her  arms  around  her,  and  sat  there,  her  little  black  head 
resting  on  the  black  crape,  not  saying  one  word,  not  making 
one  sound. 

From  that  day  her  life  changed  entirely.  Sometimes 
she  used  to  feel  as  if  it  must  be  another  life  altogether, 
the  life  of  some  other  child.  She  was  a  little  drudge 
and  outcast ;  she  was  given  her  lessons  at  odd  times 
and  expected  to  learn  without  being  taught  ;  she  was  sent 
on  errands  by  Miss  Minchin,  Miss  Amelia  and  the  cook. 
Nobody  took  any  notice  of  her  except  when  they  ordered 
her  about.  She  was  often  kept  busy  all  day  and  then  sent 
into  the  deserted  school-room  with  a  pile  of  books  to  learn 
her  lessons  or  practise  at  night.  She  had  never  been  inti- 
mate with  the  other  pupils,  and  soon  she  became  so  shabby 
that,  taking  her  queer  clothes  together  with  her  queer  little 
ways,  they  began  to  look  upon  her  as  a  being  of  another 
world  than  their  own.  The  fact  was  that,  as  a  rule,  Miss 
Minchin's  pupils  were  rather  dull,  matter-of-fact  young  peo- 
ple, accustomed  to  being  rich  and  comfortable  ;  and  Sara, 
with   her  elfish   cleverness,    her  desolate   life,    and  her    odd 


SARA    CREWE;   OR, 


habit  of  fixing  her  eyes  upon  them  and  staring  them  out  of 
countenance,  was  too  much  for  them. 

"  She  always  looks  as  if  she  was  finding  you  out,"  said 
one  girl,  who  was  sly  and  given  to  making  mischief.  ''  I  am," 
said  Sara  promptly,  when  she  heard  of  it.  "  That's  what  I 
look  at  them  for.  I  like  to  know  about  people.  I  think 
them  over  afterward." 

She  never  made  any  mischief  herself  or  interfered  with 
any  one.  She  talked  very  little,  did  as  she  was  told,  and 
thought  a  great  deal.  Nobody  knew,  and  in  fact  nobody  cared, 
whether  she  was  unhappy  or  happy,  unless,  perhaps,  it  was 
Emily,  who  lived  in  the  attic  and  slept  on  the  iron  bedstead 
at  night.  Sara  thought  Emily  understood  her  feelings, 
though  she  was  only  wax  and  had  a  habit  of  staring  herself. 
Sara  used  to  talk  to  her  at  night. 

"  You  are  the  only  friend  I  have  in  the  world,"  she  would 
say  to  her.  "  Why  don't  you  say  something  ?  Why  don't 
you  speak  ?  Sometimes  I  am  sure  you  could,  if  you  would 
try.  It  ought  to  make  you  try,  to  know  you  are  the  only 
thing  I  have.  If  I  were  you,  I  should  try.  Why  don't  you 
try  ?  " 

It  really  was  a  very  strange  feeling  she  had  about  Emily. 
It  arose  from  her  being  so  desolate.  She  did  not  like  to  own 
to  herself  that  her  only  friend,  her  only  companion,  could 
feel  and  hear  nothing.  She  wanted  to  believe,  or  to  pretend 
to  believe,  that  Emily  understood  and  sympathized  with  her, 
that  she  heard  her  even  though  she  did  not  speak  in  answer. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCIIIN'S.  21 

She  used  to  put  her  in  a  chair  sometimes  and  sit  opposite  to 
her  on  the  old  red  footstool,  and  stare  at  her  and  think  and 
pretend  about  her  until  her  own  eyes  would  grow  large  with 
something  which  was  almost  like  fear,  particularly  at  night, 
when  the  garret  was  so  still,  when  the  only  sound  that  was 
to  be  heard  was  the  occasional  squeak  and  scurry  of  rats  in 
the  wainscot.  There  were  rat-holes  in  the  garret,  and  Sara 
detested  rats,  and  was  always  glad  Emily  was  with  her  when 
she  heard  their  hateful  squeak  and  rush  and  scratching.  One 
of  her  "  pretends"  was  that  Emily  was  a  kind  of  good  witch 
and  could  protect  her.  Poor  little  Sara !  everything  was 
'•  pretend  "  with  her.  She  had  a  strong  imagination  ;  there 
was  almost  more  imagination  than  there  was  Sara,  and  her 
whole  forlorn,  uncared-for  child-life  was  made  up  of  imagin- 
ings. She  imagined  and  pretended  things  until  she  almost  be- 
lieved them,  and  she  would  scarcely  have  been  surprised  at  any 
remarkable  thing  that  could  have  happened.  So  she  insisted 
to  herself  that  Emily  understood  all  about  her  troubles  and 
was  really  her  friend. 

"As  to  answering,"  she  used  to  say,  "  I  don't  answer  very 
often.  I  never  answer  when  I  can  help  it.  When  people 
are  insulting  you,  there  is  nothing  so  good  for  them  as  not 
to  say  a  word — just  to  look  at  them  and  think.  Miss  Min- 
chin  turns  pale  with  rage  when  I  do  it.  Miss  Amelia  looks 
frightened,  so  do  the  girls.  They  know  you  are  stronger 
than  they  are,  because  you  are  strong  enough  to  hold  in  your 
rage  and  they  are  not,  and  they  say  stupid  things  they  wish 


SARA    CREWE;   OR, 


they  hadn't  said  afterward.  There's  nothing  so  strong  as 
rage,  except  what  makes  you  hold  it  in — that's  stronger.  It's 
a  good  thing  not  to  answer  your  enemies.  I  scarcely  ever 
do.  Perhaps  Emily  is  more  like  me  than  I  am  like  myself. 
Perhaps  she  would  rather  not  answer  her  friends,  even.  She 
keeps  it  all  in  her  heart." 

But  though  she  tried  to  satisfy  herself  with  these  argu- 
ments, Sara  did  not  find  it  easy.  When,  after  a  long,  hard 
day,  in  which  she  had  been  sent  here  and  there,  sometimes 
on  long  errands,  through  wind  and  cold  and  rain  ;  and,  when 
she  came  in  wet  and  hungry,  had  been  sent  out  again  because 
nobody  chose  to  remember  that  she  was  only  a  child,  and 
that  her  thin  little  legs  might  be  tired,  and  her  small  body, 
clad  in  its  forlorn,  too  small  finery,  all  too  short  and  too  tight, 
might  be  chilled  ;  when  she  had  been  given  only  harsh  words 
and  cold,  slighting  looks  for  thanks  ;  when  the  cook  had  been 
vulgar  and  insolent  ;  when  Miss  Minchin  had  been  in  her 
worst  moods,  and  when  she  had  seen  the  girls  sneering  at  her 
among  themselves  and  making  fun  of  her  poor,  outgrown 
clothes — then  Sara  did  not  find  Emily  quite  all  that  her  sore, 
proud,  desolate  little  heart  needed  as  the  doll  sat  in  her  little 
old  chair  and  stared. 

One  of  these  nights,  when  she  came  up  to  the  garret  cold, 
hungry,  tired,  and  with  a  tempest  raging  in  her  small  breast, 
Emily's  stare  seemed  so  vacant,  her  sawdust  legs  and  arms 
so  limp  and  inexpressive,  that  Sara  lost  all  control  over  her- 
self. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  23 

"  I  shall  die  presently  !  "  she  said  at  first. 

Emily  stared. 

"  I  can't  bear  this  !  "  said  the  poor  child,  trembling.  "  I 
know  I  shall  die.  I'm  cold,  I'm  wet,  I'm  starving  to  death. 
I've  walked  a  thousand  miles  to-day,  and  they  have  done 
nothing  but  scold  me  from  morning  until  night.  And  be- 
cause I  could  not  find  that  last  thing  they  sent  me  for,  they 
would  not  give  me  any  supper.  Some  men  laughed  at  me 
because  my  old  shoes  made  me  slip  down  in  the  mud.  I'm 
covered  with  mud  now.  And  they  laughed  !  Do  you 
hear  /  " 

She  looked  at  the  staring  glass  eyes  and  complacent  wax 
face,  and  suddenly  a  sort  of  heart-broken  rage  seized  her. 
She  lifted  her  little  savage  hand  and  knocked  Emily  off  the 
chair,  bursting  into  a  passion  of  sobbing. 

"  You  are  nothing  but  a  doll  !  "  she  cried.  "  Nothing  but 
a  doll — doll — doll  !  You  care  for  nothing.  You  are  stuffed 
with  sawdust.  You  never  had  a  heart.  Nothings  could  ever 
make  you  feel.     You  are  a  doll  /  " 

Emily  lay  upon  the  floor,  with  her  legs  ignominiously 
doubled  up  over  her  head,  and  a  new  flat  place  on  the  end  of 
her  nose  ;  but  she  was  still  calm,  even   dignified. 

Sara  hid  her  face  on  her  arms  and  sobbed.  Some  rats  in 
the  wall  began  to  fight  and  bite  each  other,  and  squeak  and 
scramble.  But,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  Sara  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  crying.  After  a  while  she  stopped,  and  when  she 
stopped  she  looked  at  Emily,  who  seemed  to  be  gazing  at 


24  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

her  around  the  side  of  one  ankle,  and  actually  with  a  kind  of 
glassy-eyed  sympathy.  Sara  bent  and  picked  her  up.  Re- 
morse overtook  her. 

"You  can't  help  being  a  doll,"  she  said,  with  a  resigned 
sigh,  "any  more  than  those  girls  downstairs  can  help  not 
having  any  sense.  We  are  not  all  alike.  Perhaps  you  do 
your  sawdust  best." 

None  of  Miss  Minchin's  young  ladies  were  very  remark- 
able for  being  brilliant  ;  they  were  select,  but  some  of  them 
were  very  dull,  and  some  of  them  were  fond  of  applying  them- 
selves to  their  lessons.  Sara,  who  snatched  her  lessons  at  all 
sorts  of  untimely  hours  from  tattered  and  discarded  books, 
and  who  had  a  hungry  craving  for  everything  readable,  was 
often  severe  upon  them  in  her  small  mind.  They  had  books 
they  never  read  ;  she  had  no  books  at  all.  If  she  had  always 
had  something  to  read,  she  would  not  have  been  so  lonely. 
She  liked  romances  and  history  and  poetry ;  she  would  read 
anything.  There  was  a  sentimental  housemaid  in  the  estab- 
lishment who  bought  the  weekly  penny  papers,  and  subscribed 
to  a  circulating  library,  from  which  she  got  greasy  volumes 
containing  stories  of  marquises  and  dukes  who  invariably  fell 
in  love  with  orange-girls  and  gypsies  and  servant-maids,  and 
made  them  the  proud  brides  of  coronets ;  and  Sara  often  did 
parts  of  this  maid's  work  so  that  she  might  earn  the  privilege 
of  reading  these  romantic  histories.  There  was  also  a  fat, 
dull  pupil,  whose  name  was  Ermengarde  St.  John,  who  was 
one  of  her  resources.      Ermengarde  had  an  intellectual  father 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  25 

who,  in  his  despairing  desire  to  encourage  his  daughter,  con- 
stantly sent  her  valuable  and  interesting  books,  which  were  a 
continual  source  of  grief  to  her.  Sara  had  once  actually  found 
her  crying  over  a  big  package  of  them. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  she  asked  her,  perhaps 
rather  disdainfully. 

And  it  is  just  possible  she  would  not  have  spoken  to  her, 
if  she  had  not  seen  the  books.  The  sight  of  books  always 
gave  Sara  a  hungry  feeling,  and  she  could  not  help  drawing 
near  to  them  if  only  to  read  their  titles. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"  My  papa  has  sent  me  some  more  books,"  answered 
Ermengarde  woefully,  "and  he  expects  me  to  read 
them." 

"  Don't  you  like  reading?"  said  Sara. 

"I  hate  it!"  replied  Miss  Ermengarde  St.  John.  "And 
he  will  ask  me  questions  when  he  sees  me  :  he  will  want  to 
know  how  much  I  remember;  how  would  you  like  to  have  to 
read  all  those  ? " 

"  I'd  like  it  better  than  anything  else  in  the  world,"  said 
Sara. 

Ermengarde  wiped  her  eyes  to  look  at  such  a  prodigy. 

"  Oh,  gracious  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Sara  returned  the  look  with  interest.  A  sudden  plan 
formed  itself  in  her  sharp  mind. 

"  Look  here  !"  she  said.  "  If  you'll  lend  me  those  books, 
I'll  read  them  and  tell  you  everything  that's  in  them  after- 


26  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

ward,  and  I'll  tell  it  to  you  so  that  you  will  remember  it.  I 
know  I  can.  The  ABC  children  always  remember  what  I 
tell  them." 

"Oh,  goodness  !  "  said  Ermengarde.  "  Do  you  think  you 
could?" 

"  I  know  I  could,"  answered  Sara.  "  I  like  to  read,  and  I 
always  remember.  I'll  take  care  of  the  books,  too  ;  they  will 
look  just  as  new  as  they  do  now,  when  I  give  them  back  to 
you." 

Ermengarde  put  her  handkerchief  in  her  pocket. 

"  If  you'll  do  that,"  she  said,  "  and  if  you'll  make  me  re- 
member, I'll  give  you — I'll  give  you  some  money." 

"  I  don't  want  your  money,"  said  Sara.  "  I  want  your  books 
— I  want  them."  And  her  eyes  grew  big  and  queer,  and  her 
chest  heaved  once. 

"Take  them,  then,"  said  Ermengarde  ;  "I  wish  I  wanted 
them,  but  I  am  not  clever,  and  my  father  is,  and  he  thinks  I 
ought  to  be." 

Sara  picked  up  the  books  and  marched  off  with  them. 
But  when  she  was  at  the  door,  she  stopped  and  turned 
around. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  tell  your  father  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh,"  said  Ermengarde,  "he  needn't  know;  he'll  think 
I've  read  them." 

Sara  looked  down  at  the  books  ;  her  heart  really  began 
to  beat  fast. 

"  I  won't  do  it,"  she  said  rather  slowly,  "  if  you  are  going 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  27 

to  tell  him  lies  about  it — I  don't  like  lies.  Why  can't  you 
tell  him  I  read  them  and  then  told  you  about  them  ?" 

"  But  he  wants  me  to  read  them,"  said  Ermengarde. 

"  He  wants  you  to  know  what  is  in  them,"  said  Sara  ;  "  and 
if  I  can  tell  it  to  you  in  an  easy  way  and  make  you  remember, 
I  should  think  he  would  like  that.'' 

"  He  would  like  it  better  if  I  read  them  myself,"  replied 
Ermengarde. 

"  He  will  like  it,  I  dare  say,  if  you  learn  anything  in  any 
way,"  said  Sara.      "  I  should,  if  I  were  your  father." 

And  though  this'  was  not  a  flattering  way  of  stating  the 
case,  Ermengarde  was  obliged  to  admit  it  was  true,  and,  after 
a  little  more  argument,  gave  in.  And  so  she  used  afterward 
always  to  hand  over  her  books  to  Sara,  and  Sara  would  carry 
them  to  her  garret  and  devour  them  ;  and  after  she  had  read 
each  volume,  she  would  return  it  and  tell  Ermengarde  about 
it  in  a  way  of  her  own.  She  had  a  gift  for  making  things  in- 
teresting. Her  imagination  helped  her  to  make  everything 
rather  like  a  story,  and  she  managed  this  matter  so  well  that 
Miss  St.  John  gained  more  information  from  her  books  than 
she  would  have  gained  if  she  had  read  them  three  times  over 
by  her  poor  stupid  little  self.  When  Sara  sat  down  by  her 
and  began  to  tell  some  story  of  travel  or  history,  she  made 
the  travellers  and  historical  people  seem  real  ;  and  Ermen- 
garde used  to  sit  and  regard  her  dramatic  gesticulations,  her 
thin  little  flushed  cheeks,  and  her  shining,  odd  eyes  with 
amazement. 


28  SARA    CREWE j   OR, 

"  It  sounds  nicer  than  it  seems  in  the  book,"  she  would  say. 
"  I  never  cared  about  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  before,  and  I 
always  hated  the  French  Revolution,  but  you  make  it  seem 
like  a  story." 

"It  is  a  story,"  Sara  would  answer.  "  They  are  all  stories. 
Everything  is  a  story — everything  in  this  world.  You  are  a 
story — I  am  a  story — Miss  Minchin  is  a  story.  You  can  make 
a  story  out  of  anything." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Ermengarde. 

Sara  stared  at  her  a  minute  reflectively. 

"  No,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  suppose  you  couldn't.  You  are 
a  little  like  Emily  " 

"  Who  is  Emily?" 

Sara  recollected  herself.  She  knew  she  was  sometimes 
rather  impolite  in  the  candor  of  her  remarks,  and  she  did  not 
want  to  be  impolite  to  a  girl  who  was  not  unkind — only  stupid. 
Notwithstanding  all  her  sharp  little  ways  she  had  the  sense 
to  wish  to  be  just  to  everybody.  In  the  hours  she  spent 
alone,  she  used  to  argue  out  a  great  many  curious  questions 
with  herself.  One  thing  she  had  decided  upon  was,  that  a 
person  who  was  clever  ought  to  be  clever  enough  not  to  be 
unjust  or  deliberately  unkind  to  any  one.  Miss  Minchin  was 
unjust  and  cruel,  Miss  Amelia  was  unkind  and  spiteful,  the 
cook  was  malicious  and  hasty-tempered — they  all  were  stupid, 
and  made  her  despise  them,  and  she  desired  to  be  as  unlike 
them  as  possible.  So  she  would  be  as  polite  as  she  could  to 
people  who  in  the  least  deserved  politeness. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  29 

"Emily  is — a  person — I  know,"  she  replied. 

"  Do  you  like  her  ?  "  asked  Ermengarde. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Sara. 

Ermengarde  examined  her  queer  little  face  and  figure 
again.  She  did  look  odd.  She  had  on,  that  day,  a 
faded  blue  plush  skirt,  which  barely  covered  her  knees,  a 
brown  cloth  sacque,  and  a  pair  of  olive-green  stockings  which 
Miss  Minchin  had  made  her  piece  out  with  black  ones,  so 
that  they  would  be  long  enough  to  be  kept  on.  And  yet 
Ermengarde  was  beginning  slowly  to  admire  her.  Such  a 
forlorn,  thin,  neglected  little  thing  as  that,  who  could  read 
and  read  and  remember  and  tell  you  things  so  that  they  did 
not  tire  you  all  out !  A  child  who  could  speak  French,  and 
who  had  learned  German,  no  one  knew  how  !  One  could  not 
help  staring  at  her  and  feeling  interested,  particularly  one  to 
whom  the  simplest  lesson  was  a  trouble  and  a  woe. 

"  Do  you  like  me  ?  "  said  Ermengarde,  finally,  at  the  end 
of  her  scrutiny. 

Sara  hesitated  one  second,  then  she  answered  : 

"  I  like  you  because  you  are  not  ill-natured — I  like  you 
for  letting  me  read  your  books — I  like  you  because  you  don't 
make  spiteful  fun  of  me  for  what  I  can't  help.  It's  not  your 
fault  that " 

She  pulled  herself  up  quickly.  She  had  been  going  to 
say,  "  that  you  are  stupid." 

"  That  what  ?"  asked  Ermengarde. 

"That  you  can't  learn  things  quickly.      If  you  can't,  you 


3o  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

can't.  If  I  can,  why,  I  can — that's  all."  She  paused  a  min- 
ute, looking  at  the  plump  face  before  her,  and  then,  rather 
slowly,  one  of  her  wise,  old-fashioned  thoughts  came  to  her. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  "  to  be  able  to  learn  things  quickly 
isn't  everything.  To  be  kind  is  worth  a  good  deal  to  other 
people.  If  Miss  Minchin  knew  everything  on  earth,  which 
she  doesn't,  and  if  she  was  like  what  she  is  now,  she'd  still 
be  a  detestable  thing,  and  everybody  would  hate  her.  Lots 
of  clever  people  have  done  harm  and  been  wicked.  Look  at 
Robespierre " 

She  stopped  again  and  examined  her  companion's  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Do  you  remember  about  him  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  I 
believe  you've  forgotten." 

"  Well,  I  don't  remember  all  of  it,"  admitted  Ermen- 
garde. 

"  Well,"  said  Sara,  with  courage  and  determination,  "I'll 
tell  it  to  you  over  again." 

And  she  plunged  once  more  into  the  gory  records  of  the 
French  Revolution,  and  told  such  stories  of  it,  and  made  such 
vivid  pictures  of  its  horrors,  that  Miss  St.  John  was  afraid  to 
go  to  bed  afterward,  and  hid  her  head  under  the  blankets 
when  she  did  go,  and  shivered  until  she  fell  asleep.  But 
afterward  she  preserved  lively  recollections  of  the  character 
of  Robespierre,  and  did  not  even  forget  Marie  Antoinette 
and  the  Princess  de  Lamballe. 

"  You  know  they  put  her  head  on  a  pike  and  danced  around 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MIJVCHIJV'S.  31 

it,"  Sara  had  said  ;  "  and  she  had  beautiful  blonde  hair  ;  and 
when  I  think  of  her,  I  never  see  her  head  on  her  body, 
but  always  on  a  pike,  with  those  furious  people  dancing  and 
howling." 

Yes,  it  was  true  ;  to  this  imaginative  child  everything 
was  a  story  ;  and  the  more  books  she  read,  the  more  im- 
aginative she  became.  One  of  her  chief  entertainments  was 
to  sit  in  her  garret,  or  walk  about  it,  and  "suppose"  things. 
On  a  cold  night,  when  she  had  not  had  enough  to  eat,  she 
would  draw  the  red  footstool  up  before  the  empty  grate,  and 
say  in  the  most  intense  voice  : 

"  Suppose  there  was  a  great,  wide  steel  grate  here,  and 
a  great  glowing  fire — a  glowing  fire — with  beds  of  red-hot 
coal  and  lots  of  little  dancing,  flickering  flames.  Suppose 
there  was  a  soft,  deep  rug.  and  this  was  a  comfortable  chair, 
all  cushions  and  crimson  velvet ;  and  suppose  I  had  a  crimson 
velvet  frock  on,  and  a  deep  lace  collar,  like  a  child  in  a  picture  ; 
and  suppose  all  the  rest  of  the  room  was  furnished  in  lovely 
colors,  and  there  were  book-shelves  full  of  books,  which 
changed  by  magic  as  soon  as  you  had  read  them  ;  and  sup- 
pose there  was  a  little  table  here,  with  a  snow-v/hite  cover 
on  it,  and  little  silver  dishes,  and  in  one  there  was  hot,  hot 
soup,  and  in  another  a  roast  chicken,  and  in  another  some 
raspberry-jam  tarts  with  criss-cross  on  them,  and  in  another 
some  grapes  ;  and  suppose  Emily  could  speak,  and  we  could 
sit  and  eat  our  supper,  and  then  talk  and  read  ;  and  then 
suppose  there  was  a  soft,  warm  bed  in  the  corner,  and  when 


32  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

we  were  tired  we  could  go  to  sleep,  and  sleep  as  long  as 
we  liked." 

Sometimes,  after  she  had  supposed  things  like  these  for 
half  an  hour,  she  would  feel  almost  warm,  and  would  creep 
into  bed  with  Emily  and  fall  asleep  with  a  smile  on  her  face. 

"  What  large,  downy  pillows  !  "  she  would  whisper.  "  What 
white  sheets  and  fleecy  blankets  ! "  And  she  almost  forgot 
that  her  real  pillows  had  scarcely  any  feathers  in  them  at  all, 
and  smelled  musty,  and  that  her  blankets  and  coverlid  were 
thin  and  full  of  holes. 

At  another  time  she  would  "suppose"  she  was  a  prin- 
cess, and  then  she  would  go  about  the  house  with  an  ex- 
pression on  her  face  which  was  a  source  of  great  secret  an- 
noyance to  Miss  Minchin,  because  it  seemed  as  if  the  child 
scarcely  heard  the  spiteful,  insulting  things  said  to  her,  or, 
if  she  heard  them,  did  not  care  for  them  at  all.  Sometimes, 
while  she  was  in  the  midst  of  some  harsh  and  cruel  speech, 
Miss  Minchin  would  find  the  odd,  unchildish  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  with  something  like  a  proud  smile  in  them.  At  such 
times  she  did  not  know  that  Sara  was  saying  to  herself  : 

"  You  don't  know  that  you  are  saying  these  things  to  a 
princess,  and  that  if  I  chose  I  could  wave  my  hand  and  order 
you  to  execution.  I  only  spare  you  because  I  am  a  princess, 
and  you  are  a  poor,  stupid,  old,  vulgar  thing,  and  don't  know 
any  better." 

This  used  to  please  and  amuse  her  more  than  anything 
else  ;  and  queer  and  fanciful  as  it  was,  she  found  comfort  in 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  33 

it,  and  it  was  not  a  bad  thing  for  her.  It  really  kept  her  from 
being  made  rude  and  malicious  by  the  rudeness  and  malice 
of  those  about  her. 

"A  princess  must  be  polite,"  she  said  to  herself.  And  so 
when  the  servants,  who  took  their  tone  from  their  mistress, 
were  insolent  and  ordered  her  about,  she  would  hold  her 
head  erect,  and  reply  to  them  sometimes  in  a  way  which 
made  them  stare  at  her,  it  was  so  quaintly  civil. 

"  I  am  a  princess  in  rags  and  tatters,"  she  would  think, 
"  but  I  am  a  princess,  inside.  It  would  be  easy  to  be  a 
princess  if  I  were  dressed  in  cloth-of-gold  ;  it  is  a  great  deal 
more  of  a  triumph  to  be  one  all  the  time  when  no  one  knows 
it.  There  was  Marie  Antoinette  :  when  she  was  in  prison, 
and  her  throne  was  gone,  and  she  had  only  a  black  gown  on, 
and  her  hair  was  white,  and  they  insulted  her  and  called  her 
the  Widow  Capet, — she  was  a  great  deal  more  like  a  queen 
then  than  when  she  was  so  gay  and  had  everything  grand. 
I  like  her  best  then.  Those  howling  mobs  of  people  did  not 
frighten  her.  She  was  stronger  than  they  were  even  when 
they  cut  her  head  off." 

Once  when  such  thoughts  were  passing  through  her 
mind  the  look  in  her  eyes  so  enraged  Miss  Minchin  that  she 
flew  at  Sara  and  boxed  her  ears. 

Sara  awakened  from  her  dream,  started  a  little,  and  then 
broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at,  you  bold,  impudent  child  !" 

exclaimed  Miss  Minchin. 
3 


34  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

It  took  Sara  a  few  seconds  to  remember  she  was  a  prin- 
cess. Her  cheeks  were  red  and  smarting  from  the  blows  she 
had  received. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said. 

"  Beg  my  pardon  immediately,"  said   Miss  Minchin. 

"  I  will  beg  your  pardon  for  laughing,  if  it  was  rude,"  said 
Sara  ;   "  but  I  won't  beg  your  pardon  for  thinking." 

"What  were  you  thinking?"  demanded  Miss  Minchin. 
"  How  dare  you  think  ?     What  were  you  thinking  ?  " 

This  occurred  in  the  school-room,  and  all  the  girls  looked 
up  from  their  books  to  listen.  It  always  interested  them 
when  Miss  Minchin  flew  at  Sara,  because  Sara  always  said 
something  queer,  and  never  seemed  in  the  least  frightened. 
She  was  not  in  the  least  frightened  now,  though  her  boxed 
ears  were  scarlet,  and  her  eyes  were  as  bright  as  stars. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  answered  gravely  and  quite  politely, 
"  that  you  did  not  know  what  you  were  doing." 

"  That  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing!"  Miss  Minchin 
fairly  gasped. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sara,  "  and  I  was  thinking  what  would  hap- 
pen, if  I  were  a  princess  and  you  boxed  my  ears — what  I 
should  do  to  you.  And  I  was  thinking  that  if  I  were  one,  you 
would  never  dare  to  do  it,  whatever  I  said  or  did.  And  I 
was  thinking  how  surprised  and  frightened  you  would  be  if 
you  suddenly  found  out " 

She  had  the  imagined  picture  so  clearly  before  her  eyes, 
that  she  spoke  in  a  manner  which  had  an  effect  even  on  Miss 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN' S.  35 

Minchin.  It  almost  seemed  for  the  moment  to  her  narrow, 
unimaginative  mind  that  there  must  be  some  real  power  behind 
this  candid  daring. 

"  What !"  she  exclaimed,   "  found  out  what  ?" 

"  That  I  really  was  a  princess,"  said  Sara,  "  and  could  do 
anything — anything  I   liked." 

"  Go  to  your  room,"  cried  Miss  Minchin  breathlessly, 
"this  instant.  Leave  the  school-room.  Attend  to  your  les- 
sons, young  ladies." 

Sara  made  a  little  bow. 

"  Excuse  me  for  laughing,  if  it  was  impolite,"  she  said, 
and  walked  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Miss  Minchin  in  a  rage 
and  the  girls  whispering  over  their  books. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  she  did  turn  out  to  be 
something,"  said  one  of  them.     "  Suppose  she  should  ! " 

That  very  afternoon  Sara  had  an  opportunity  of  proving 
to  herself  whether  she  was  really  a  princess  or  not.  It  was 
a  dreadful  afternoon.  For  several  days  it  had  rained  con- 
tinuously, the  streets  were  chilly  and  sloppy ;  there  was  mud 
everywhere — sticky  London  mud — and  over  everything  a  pall 
of  fog  and  drizzle.  Of  course  there  were  several  long  and 
tiresome  errands  to  be  done, — there  always  were  on  days  like 
this, — and  Sara  was  sent  out  again  and  again,  until  her  shabby 
clothes  were  damp  through.  The  absurd  old  feathers  on  her 
forlorn  hat  were  more  draggled  and  absurd  than  ever,  and 
her  down-trodden  shoes  were  so  wet  they  could  not  hold  any 


36  SARA    CREWE;    OR, 

more  water.  Added  to  this,  she  had  been  deprived  of  her 
dinner,  because  Miss  Minchin  wished  to  punish  her.  She 
was  very  hungry.  She  was  so  cold  and  hungry  and  tired  that 
her  little  face  had  a  pinched  look,  and  now  and  then  some 
kind-hearted  person  passing  her  in  the  crowded  street  glanced 
at  her  with  sympathy.  But  she  did  not  know  that.  She 
hurried  on,  trying  to  comfort  herself  in  that  queer  way  of  hers 
by  pretending  and  "supposing," — but  really  this  time  it  was 
harder  than  she  had  ever  found  it,  and  once  or  twice  she 
thought  it  almost  made  her  more  cold  and  hungry  instead  of 
less  so.  But  she  persevered  obstinately.  (t  Suppose  I  had 
dry  clothes  on,"  she  thought.  "  Suppose  I  had  good  shoes 
and  a  long,  thick  coat  and  merino  stockings  and  a  whole 
umbrella.  And  suppose — suppose,  just  when  I  was  near  a 
baker's  where  they  sold  hot  buns,  I  should  find  sixpence — 
which  belonged  to  nobody.  Suppose,  if  I  did,  I  should  go 
into  the  shop  and  buy  six  of  the  hottest  buns,  and  should  eat 
them  all  without  stopping." 

Some  very  odd  things  happen  in  this  world  sometimes. 
It  certainly  was  an  odd  thing  which  happened  to  Sara.  She 
had  to  cross  the  street  just  as  she  was  saying  this  to  herself 
— the  mud  was  dreadful — she  almost  had  to  wade.  She 
picked  her  way  as  carefully  as  she  could,  but  she  could  not 
save  herself  much,  only,  in  picking  her  way  she  had  to  look 
down  at  her  feet  and  the  mud,  and  in  looking  down — just  as 
she  reached  the  pavement — she  saw  something  shining  in  the 
gutter.      A    piece    of    silver — a  tiny   piece   trodden   upon  by 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIJV' S.  37 

many  feet,  but  still  with  spirit  enough  left  to  shine  a  little. 
Not  quite  a  sixpence,  but  the  next  thing  to  it — a  four-penny 
piece!  In  one  second  it  was  in  her  cold,  little  red  and  blue 
hand. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  gasped.      "  It  is  true  !  " 

And  then,  if  you  will  believe  me,  she  looked  straight  be- 
fore her  at  the  shop  directly  facing  her.  And  it  was  a  baker's, 
and  a  cheerful,  stout,  motherly  woman,  with  rosy  cheeks,  was 
just  putting  into  the  window  a  tray  of  delicious  hot  buns, — 
large,  plump,  shiny  buns,  with  currants  in  them. 

It  almost  made  Sara  feel  faint  for  a  few  seconds — the 
shock  and  the  sight  of  the  buns  and  the  delightful  odors  of 
warm  bread  floating  up  through  the  baker's  cellar-window. 

She  knew  that  she  need  not  hesitate  to  use  the  little  piece 
of  money.  It  had  evidently  been  lying  in  the  mud  for  some 
time,  and  its  owner  was  completely  lost  in  the  streams  of  pass- 
ing people  who  crowded  and  jostled  each  other  all  through 
the  day. 

"  But  I'll  go  and  ask  the  baker's  woman  if  she  has  lost  a 
piece  of  money,"  she  said  to  herself,  rather  faintly. 

So  she  crossed  the  pavement  and  put  her  wet  foot  on  the 
step  of  the  shop;  and  as  she  did  so  she  saw  something  which 
made  her  stop. 

It  was  a  little  figure  more  forlorn  than  her  own— a  little 
figure  which  was  not  much  more  than  a  bundle  of  rags,  from 
which  small,  bare,  red  and  muddy  feet  peeped  out — only 
because  the  rags  with  which  the  wearer  was  trying  to  cover 


38  SARA    CREWE j   OR, 

them  were  not  long  enough.  Above  the  rags  appeared  a 
shock  head  of  tangled  hair  and  a  dirty  face,  with  big,  hollow, 
hungry  eyes. 

Sara  knew  they  were  hungry  eyes  the  moment  she  saw 
them,  and  she  felt  a  sudden  sympathy. 

"This,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  little  sigh,  "is  one  of 
the  Populace — and  she  is  hungrier  than  I   am." 

The  child — this  "  one  of  the  Populace  " — stared  up  at 
Sara,  and  shuffled  herself  aside  a  little,  so  as  to  give  her  more 
room.  She  was  used  to  being  made  to  give  room  to  every- 
body. She  knew  that  if  a  policeman  chanced  to  see  her, 
he  would  tell  her  to  "  move  on." 

Sara  clutched  her  little  four-penny  piece,  and  hesitated  a 
few  seconds.     Then  she  spoke  to  her. 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?"  she  asked. 

The  child  shuffled  herself  and  her  rags  a  little  more. 

"  Ain't  I  jist !  "  she  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice.    "Jist  ain't  I  !" 

"  Haven't  you  had  any  dinner  ?"  said  Sara. 

"  No  dinner,"  more  hoarsely  still  and  with  more  shuffling, 
"nor  yet  no  bre'fast — nor  yet  no  supper — nor  nothin'." 

"  Since  when  ?  "  asked  Sara. 

"  Dun'no.  Never  got  nothin'  to-day — nowhere.  I've 
axed  and  axed." 

Just  to  look  at  her  made  Sara  more  hungry  and  faint. 
But  those  queer  little  thoughts  were  at  work  in  her  brain,  and 
she  was  talking  to  herself  though  she  was  sick  at  heart. 

"  If    I'm    a    princess,"  she  was   saying — "  if    I'm    a    prin- 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  39 

cess — !  When  they  were  poor  and  driven  from  their 
thrones — they  always  shared— with  the  Populace — if  they 
met  one  poorer  and  hungrier.  They  always  shared.  Buns 
are  a  penny  each.  If  it  had  been  sixpence!  I  could  have 
eaten  six.  It  won't  be  enough  for  either  of  us — but  it  will  be 
better  than  nothing." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  she  said  to  the  beggar-child.  She 
went  into  the  shop.  It  was  warm  and  smelled  delightfully. 
The  woman  was  just  going  to  put  more  hot  buns  in  the 
window. 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Sara,  "  have  you  lost  fourpence — a 
silver  fourpence  ?  "  And  she  held  the  forlorn  little  piece  of 
money  out  to  her. 

The  woman  looked  at  it  and  at  her — at  her  intense  little 
face  and  draggled,  once-fine  clothes. 

"  Bless  us — no,"  she  answered.      "  Did  you  find  it?" 

"  In  the  gutter,"  said  Sara. 

"  Keep  it,  then,"  said  the  woman.  "  It  may  have  been 
there  a  week,  and  goodness  knows  who  lost  it.  You  could 
never  find  out." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Sara,  "but  I  thought  'd    ask  you." 

"  Not  many  would,"  said  the  woman,  looking  puzzled  and 
interested  and  good-natured  all  at  once.  "  Do  you  want  to 
buy  something?"  she  added,  as  she  saw  Sara  glance  toward 
the  buns. 

"  Four  buns,  if  you  please,"  said  Sara;  "  those  at  a  penny 
each." 


4o  SARA    CREWE j   OR, 

The  woman  went  to  the  window  and  put  some  in  a  paper 
bag.     Sara  noticed  that  she  put  in  six. 

"  I  said  four,  ifyou  please,"  she  explained.  "  I  have  only 
the  fourpence." 

"  I'll  throw  in  two  for  make-weight,"  said  the  woman,  with 
her  good-natured  look.  "  I  dare  say  you  can  eat  them  some 
time.     Aren't  you  hungry  ?" 

A  mist  rose  before  Sara's  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  very  hungry,  and  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness,  and,"  she  was  going 
to  add,  "there  is  a  child  outside  who  is  hungrier  than  I  am.'" 
But  just  at  that  moment  two  or  three  customers  came  in  at 
once  and  each  one  seemed  in  a  hurry,  so  she  could  only  thank 
the  woman  again  and  go  out. 

The  child  was  still  huddled  up  on  the  corner  of  the  steps. 
She  looked  frightful  in  her  wet  and  dirty  rags.  She  was 
staring  with  a  stupid  look  of  suffering  straight  before  her, 
and  Sara  saw  her  suddenly  draw  the  back  of  her  roughened, 
black  hand  across  her  eyes  to  rub  away  the  tears  which 
seemed  to  have  surprised  her  by  forcing  their  way  from  under 
her  lids.      She  was  muttering  to  herself. 

Sara  opened  the  paper  bag  and  took  out  one  of  the 
hot  buns,  which  had  already  warmed  her  cold  hands  a 
little. 

"  See,"  she  said,  putting  the  bun  on  the  ragged  lap,  "that 
is  nice  and  hot.      Eat  it,  and  you  will  not  be  so  hungry." 

The  child  started  and  stared  up  at  her ;  then  she  snatched 


"EAT   IT,"    SAID    SARA,     "AND    YOU   WILL   NOT   BE    SO    HUNGRY." 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  43 

up  the  bun  and  began  to  cram  it  into  her  mouth  with  great 
wolfish  bites. 

"Oh,  my!  Oh,  my!"  Sara  heard  her  say  hoarsely,  in 
wild  delight. 

"  Oh,  my  !  " 

Sara  took  out  three  more  buns  and  put  them  down. 

"  She  is  hungrier  than  I  am,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  She's 
starving."  But  her  hand  trembled  when  she  put  down  the 
fourth  bun.  "  I'm  not  starving,"  she  said — and  she  put  down 
the  fifth. 

The  little  starving  London  savage  was  still  snatching  and 
devouring  when  she  turned  away.  She  was  too  ravenous  to 
give  any  thanks,  even  if  she  had  been  taught  politeness — 
which  she  had  not.      She  was  only  a  poor  little  wild  animal. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Sara. 

When  she  reached  the  other  side  of  the  street  she  looked 
back.  The  child  had  a  bun  in  both  hands,  and  had  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  a  bite  to  watch  her.  Sara  gave  her  a 
little  nod,  and  the  child,  after  another  stare, — a  curious,  long- 
ing stare, — jerked  her  shaggy  head  in  response,  and  until 
Sara  was  out  of  sight  she  did  not  take  another  bite  or  even 
finish  the  one  she  had  begun. 

At  that  moment  the  baker-woman  glanced  out  of  her 
shop-window. 

"Well,  I  never!"  she  exclaimed.  "If  that  young  'un 
hasn't  given  her  buns  to  a  beggar-child!  It  wasn't  because 
she  didn't  want  them,  either — well,  well,  she  looked  hungry 


44  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

enough.  I'd  give  something  to  know  what  she  did  it  for." 
She  stood  behind  her  window  for  a  few  moments  and  pondered. 
Then  her  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her.  She  went  to  the 
door  and  spoke  to  the  beggar-child. 

"  Who  gave  you  those  buns  ?"  she  asked  her. 

The  child  nodded  her  head  toward  Sara's  vanishing  figure. 

"What  did  she  say?"  inquired  the  woman. 

"  Axed  me  if  I  was  'ungry,"  replied  the  hoarse  voice. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Said  I  was  jist !  " 

"  And  then  she  came  in  and  got  buns  and  came  out  and 
gave  them  to  you,  did  she  ?  " 

The  child  nodded. 

"  How  many  ?" 

"  Five." 

The  woman  thought  it  over.  "  Left  just  one  for  herself," 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  And  she  could  have  eaten  the 
whole  six — I  saw  it  in  her  eyes." 

She  looked  after  the  little,  draggled,  far-away  figure,  and 
felt  more  disturbed  in  her  usually  comfortable  mind  than  she 
had  felt  for  many  a  day. 

"  I  wish  she  hadn't  gone  so  quick,"  she  said.  "  I'm  blest 
if  she  shouldn't  have  had  a  dozen." 

Then  she  turned  to  the  child. 

"Are  you  hungry,  yet?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  alius  'ungry,"  was  the  answer;  "but  'tain't  so  bad 
as  it  was." 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  45 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  the  woman,  and  she  held  open  the 
shop-door. 

The  child  got  up  and  shuffled  in.  To  be  invited  into  a 
warm  place  full  of  bread  seemed  an  incredible  thing.  She 
did  not  know  what  was  going  to  happen  ;  she  did  not  care, 
even. 

"  Get  yourself  warm,"  said  the  woman,  pointing  to  a  fire 
in  a  tiny  back  room.  "  And,  look  here, — when  you're  hard 
up  for  a  bite  of  bread,  you  can  come  here  and  ask  for  it. 
I'm  blest  if  I  won't  give  it  to  you  for  that  young  un's  sake." 

Sara  found  some  comfort  in  her  remaining  bun.  It  was 
hot ;  and  it  was  a  great  deal  better  than  nothing.  She  broke 
off  small  pieces  and  ate  them  slowly  to  make  it  last  longer. 

"  Suppose  it  was  a  magic  bun,"  she  said,  "and  a  bite  was 
as  much  as  a  whole  dinner.  I  should  be  over-eating  myself 
if   I  went  on  like  this." 

It  was  dark  when  she  reached  the  square  in  which  Miss 
Minchin's  Select  Seminary  was  situated ;  the  lamps  were 
lighted,  and  in  most  of  the  windows  gleams  of  light  were  to 
be  seen.  It  always  interested  Sara  to  catch  glimpses  of  the 
rooms  before  the  shutters  were  closed.  She  liked  to  im- 
agine things  about  people  who  sat  before  the  fires  in  the 
houses,  or  who  bent  over  books  at  the  tables.  There  was, 
for  instance,  the  Large  Family  opposite.  She  called  these 
people  the  Large  Family — not  because  they  were  large,  for 
indeed  most  of  them  were  little, — but  because  there  were  so 


46  SARA    CREWE j    OR, 

many  of  them.  There  were  eight  children  in  the  Large 
Family,  and  a  stout,  rosy  mother,  and  a  stout,  rosy  father, 
and  a  stout,  rosy  grandmamma,  and  any  number  of  ser- 
vants. The  eight  children  were  always  either  being  taken 
out  to  walk,  or  to  ride  in  perambulators,  by  comfortable 
nurses  ;  or  they  were  going  to  drive  with  their  mamma  ;  or 
they  were  flying  to  the  door  in  the  evening  to  kiss  their 
papa  and  dance  around  him  and  drag  off  his  overcoat  and 
look  for  packages  in  the  pockets  of  it  ;  or  they  were  crowd- 
ing about  the  nursery  windows  and  looking  out  and  pushing 
each  other  and  laughing, — in  fact  they  were  always  doing 
something  which  seemed  enjoyable  and  suited  to  the  tastes  of 
a  large  family.  Sara  was  quite  attached  to  them,  and  had  given 
them  all  names  out  of  books.  She  called  them  the  Mont- 
morencys,  when  she  did  not  call  them  the  Large  Family. 
The  fat,  fair  baby  with  the  lace  cap  was  Ethelberta  Beau- 
champ  Montmorency  ;  the  next  baby  was  Violet  Cholmondely 
Montmorency  ;  the  little  boy  who  could  just  stagger,  and 
who  had  such  round  legs,  was  Sydney  Cecil  Vivian  Mont- 
morency ;  and  then  came  Lilian  Evangeline,  Guy  Clarence, 
Maud  Marian,  Rosalind  Gladys,  Veronica  Eustacia,  and 
Claude  Harold  Hector. 

Next  door  to  the  Large  Family  lived  the  Maiden  Lady, 
who  had  a  companion,  and  two  parrots,  and  a  King  Charles 
spaniel  ;  but  Sara  was  not  so  very  fond  of  her,  because  she 
did  nothing  in  particular  but  talk  to  the  parrots  and  drive  out 
with  the  spaniel.     The  most  interesting  person  of  all  lived 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  47 

next  door  to  Miss  Minchin  herself.  Sara  called  him  the 
Indian  Gentleman.  He  was  an  elderly  gentleman  who  was 
said  to  have  lived  in  the  East  Indies,  and  to  be  immensely 
rich  and  to  have  something  the  matter  with  his  liver, — in 
fact,  it  had  been  rumored  that  he  had  no  liver  at  all,  and  was 
much  inconvenienced  by  the  fact.  At  any  rate,  he  was  very 
yellow  and  he  did  not  look  happy  ;  and  when  he  went  out  to 
his  carriage,  he  was  almost  always  wrapped  up  in  shawls  and 
overcoats,  as  if  he  were  cold.  He  had  a  native  servant  who 
looked  even  colder  than  himself,  and  he  had  a  monkey  who 
looked  colder  than  the  native  servant.  Sara  had  seen  the 
monkey  sitting  on  a  table,  in  the  sun,  in  the  parlor  window, 
and  he  always  wore  such  a  mournful  expression  that  she 
sympathized  with  him  deeply. 

"  I  dare  say,"  she  used  sometimes  to  remark  to  herself, 
"he  is  thinking  all  the  time  of  cocoanut  trees  and  of  swing- 
ing  by  his  tail  under  a  tropical  sun.  He  might  have  had  a 
family  dependent  on  him  too,  poor  thing  !  " 

The  native  servant,  whom  she  called  the  Lascar,  looked 
mournful  too,  but  he  was  evidently  very  faithful  to  his  mas- 
ter. 

"  Perhaps  he  saved  his  master's  life  in  the  Sepoy  rebellion," 
she  thought.  "  They  look  as  if  they  might  have  had  all  sorts 
of  adventures.  I  wish  I  could  speak  to  the  Lascar.  I  re- 
member a  little   Hindustani." 

And  one  day  she  actually  did  speak  to  him,  and  his  start 
at   the  sound  of   his  own    language  expressed  a  great  deal 


SARA    CREWE;   OR, 


of  surprise  and  delight.  He  was  waiting  for  his  master  to 
come  out  to  the  carriage,  and  Sara,  who  was  going  on  an 
errand  as  usual,  stopped  and  spoke  a  few  words.  She  had 
a  special  gift  for  languages  and  had  remembered  enough 
Hindustani  to  make  herself  understood  by  him.  When  his 
master  came  out,  the  Lascar  spoke  to  him  quickly,  and  the 
Indian  Gentleman  turned  and  looked  at  her  curiously.  And 
afterward  the  Lascar  always  greeted  her  with  salaams  of  the 
most  profound  description.  And  occasionally  they  exchanged 
a  few  words.  She  learned  that  it  was  true  that  the  Sahib 
was  very  rich — that  he  was  ill — and  also  that  he  had  no  wife 
nor  children,  and  that  England  did  not  agree  with  the 
monkey. 

"  He  must  be  as  lonely  as  I  am,"  thought  Sara.  "  Being 
rich  does  not  seem  to  make  him  happy." 

That  evening,  as  she  passed  the  windows,  the  Lascar 
was  closing  the  shutters,  and  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
room  inside.  There  was  a  bright  fire  glowing  in  the  grate, 
and  the  Indian  Gentleman  was  sitting  before  it,  in  a  luxuri- 
ous chair.  The  room  was  richly  furnished,  and  looked  de- 
lightfully comfortable,  but  the  Indian  Gentleman  sat  with  his 
head  resting  on  his  hand,  and  looked  as  lonely  and  unhappy 
as  ever. 

"  Poor  man  ! "  said  Sara  ;  "I  wonder  what  you  are  '  suppos- 
ing   ? 

When  she  went  into  the  house  she  met  Miss  Minchin  in 
the  hall. 


1  HE   WAS    WAITING   FOR   HIS    MASTER   TO   COME    OUT    TO    THE    CARRIAGE,    AND    SARA   STOPPED   AND 

SPOKE   A    FEW    WORDS    TO    HIM." 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN' S.  51 

"  Where  have  you  wasted  your  time  ? "  said  Miss  Min- 
chin.      "  You  have  been  out  for  hours  ! " 

u  It  was  so  wet  and  muddy,"  Sara  answered.  "  It  was 
hard  to  walk,  because  my  shoes  were  so  bad  and  slipped 
about  so." 

"Make  no  excuses,"  said  Miss  Minchin,  "  and  tell  no  false- 
hoods." 

Sara  went  downstairs  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Why  didn't  you  stay  all  night  ?  "  said  the  cook. 

"  Here  are  the  things,"  said  Sara,  and  laid  her  purchases 
on  the  table. 

The  cook  looked  over  them,  grumbling.  She  was  in  a 
very  bad  temper  indeed. 

"  May  I  have  something  to  eat  ? "  Sara  asked  rather 
faintly. 

"Tea's  over  and  done  with,"  was  the  answer.  "  Did  you 
expect  me  to  keep  it  hot  for  you  ?" 

Sara  was  silent  a  second. 

"  I  had  no  dinner,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  quite  low. 
She  made  it  low,  because  she  was  afraid  it  would  tremble. 

"  There's  some  bread  in  the  pantry,"  said  the  cook. 
"  That's  all  you'll  get  at  this  time  of  day." 

Sara  went  and  found  the  bread.  It  was  old  and  hard  and 
dry.  The  cook  was  in  too  bad  a  humor  to  give  her  anything 
to  eat  with  it.  She  had  just  been  scolded  by  Miss  Minchin, 
and  it  was  always  safe  and  easy  to  vent  her  own  spite  on 
Sara. 


52  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

Really  it  was  hard  for  the  child  to  climb  the  three  long 
flights  of  stairs  leading  to  her  garret.  She  often  found  them 
long  and  steep  when  she  was  tired,  but  to-night  it  seemed  as 
if  she  would  never  reach  the  top.  Several  times  a  lump  rose 
in  her  throat  and  she  was  obliged  to  stop  to  rest. 

"  I  can't  pretend  anything  more  to-night,"  she  said  wearily 
to  herself.  "  I'm  sure  I  can't.  I'll  eat  my  bread  and  drink 
some  water  and  then  go  to  sleep,  and  perhaps  a  dream  will 
come  and  pretend  for  me.      I  wonder  what  dreams  are." 

Yes,  when  she  reached  the  top  landing  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes,  and  she  did  not  feel  like  a  princess — only  like  a 
tired,  hungry,  lonely,  lonely  child. 

"  If  my  papa  had  lived,"  she  said,  "  they  would  not  have 
treated  me  like  this.  If  my  papa  had  lived,  he  would  have 
taken  care  of  me." 

Then  she  turned  the  handle  and  opened  the  garret- 
door. 

Can  you  imagine  it — can  you  believe  it  ?  I  find  it  hard 
to  believe  it  myself.  And  Sara  found  it  impossible  ;  for  the 
first  few  moments  she  thought  something  strange  had  hap- 
pened to  her  eyes — to  her  mind — that  the  dream  had  come 
before  she  had  had  time  to  fall  asleep. 

"  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed  breathlessly.  "  Oh  !  It  isn't  true  ! 
I  know,  I  know  it  isn't  true  ! "  And  she  slipped  into  the 
room  and  closed  the  door  and  locked  it,  and  stood"  with  her 
back  against  it,  staring  straight  before  her. 

Do  you  wonder?     In  the  grate,  which  had  been  empty 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  53 

and  rusty  and  cold  when  she  left  it,  but  which  now  was  black- 
ened and  polished  up  quite  respectably,  there  was  a  glowing, 
blazing  fire.  On  the  hob  was  a  little  brass  kettle,  hissing  and 
boiling  ;  spread  upon  the  floor  was  a  warm,  thick  rug  ;  before 
the  fire  was  a  folding-chair,  unfolded  and  with  cushions  on  it ; 
by  the  chair  was  a  small  folding-table,  unfolded,  covered  with 
a  white  cloth,  and  upon  it  were  spread  small  covered  dishes,  a 
cup  and  saucer,  and  a  tea-pot ;  on  the  bed  were  new,  warm 
coverings,  a  curious  wadded  silk  robe,  and  some  books.  The 
little,  cold,  miserable  room  seemed  changed  into  Fairyland. 
It  was  actually  warm  and  glowing. 

"  It  is  bewitched  !"  said  Sara.  "  Or  /  am  bewitched.  I 
only  think  I  see  it  all ;  but  if  I  can  only  keep  on  thinking  it, 
I  don't  care — I  don't  care — if  I  can  only  keep  it  up  ! " 

She  was  afraid  to  move,  for  fear  it  would  melt  away.  She 
stood  with  her  back  against  the  door  and  looked  and  looked. 
But  soon  she  began  to  feel  warm,  and  then  she  moved  for- 
ward. 

"  A  fire  that  I  only  thought  I  saw  surely  wouldn't  feel 
warm,"  she  said.      "  It  feels  real — real." 

She  went  to  it  and  knelt  before  it.  She  touched  the 
chair,  the  table  ;  she  lifted  the  cover  of  one  of  the  dishes. 
There  was  something  hot  and  savory  in  it — something  deli- 
cious. The  tea-pot  had  tea  in  it,  ready  for  the  boiling  water 
from  the  little  kettle  ;  one  plate  had  toast  on  it,  another, 
muffins. 

"  It  is  real,"  said  Sara.      "  The  fire  is  real  enough  to  warm 


54  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

me  ;    I  can  sit  in  the  chair ;  the  things  are  real  enough  to 
eat." 

It  was  like  a  fairy  story  come  true — it  was  heavenly.. 
She  went  to  the  bed  and  touched  the  blankets  and  the  wrap. 
They  were  real  too.  She  opened  one  book,  and  on  the  title- 
page  was  written  in  a  strange  hand,  "  The  little  girl  in  the 
attic. 

Suddenly — was  it  a  strange  thing  for  her  to  do  ? — Sara 
put  her  face  down  on  the  queer,  foreign-looking  quilted  robe 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  is,"  she  said,  "but  somebody  cares 
about  me  a  little — somebody  is  my  friend." 

Somehow  that  thought  warmed  her  more  than  the  fire. 
She  had  never  had  a  friend  since  those  happy,  luxurious  days 
when  she  had  had  everything ;  and  those  days  had  seemed 
such  a  long  way  off — so  far  away  as  to  be  only  like  dreams — 
during  these  last  years  at  Miss  Minchin's. 

She  really  cried  more  at  this  strange  thought  of  having  a 
friend — even  though  an  unknown  one — than  she  had  cried 
over  many  of  her  worst  troubles. 

But  these  tears  seemed  different  from  the  others,  for  when 
she  had  wiped  them  away  they  did  not  seem  to  leave  her  eyes 
and  her  heart  hot  and  smarting. 

And  then  imagine,  if  you  can,  what  the  rest  of  the  even- 
ing was  like.  The  delicious  comfort  of  taking  off  the  damp 
clothes  and  putting  on  the  soft,  warm,  quilted  robe  before 
the  glowing  fire — of  slipping  her  cold  feet  into  the   luscious 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  55 

little  wool-lined  slippers  she  found  near  her  chair.  And 
then  the  hot  tea  and  savory  dishes,  the  cushioned  chair  and 
the  books ! 

It  was  just  like  Sara,  that,  once  having  found  the  things 
real,  she  should  give  herself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  them  to 
the  very  utmost.  She  had  lived  such  a  life  of  imagining,  and 
had  found  her  pleasure  so  long  in  improbabilities,  that  she 
was  quite  equal  to  accepting  any  wonderful  thing  that  hap- 
pened. After  she  was  quite  warm  and  had  eaten  her  supper 
and  enjoyed  herself  for  an  hour  or  so,  it  had  almost  ceased  to 
be  surprising  to  her  that  such  magical  surroundings  should 
be  hers.  As  to  finding  out  who  had  done  all  this,  she  knew 
that  it  was  out  of  the  question.  She  did  not  know  a  human 
soul  by  whom  it  could  seem  in  the  least  degree  probable  that 
it  could  have  been  done. 

"There  is  nobody,"  she  said  to  herself,  "nobody."  She 
discussed  the  matter  with  Emily,  it  is  true,  but  more  because 
it  was  delightful  to  talk  about  it  than  with  a  view  to  making 
any  discoveries. 

"  But  we  have  a  friend,  Emily,"  she  said  ;  "  we  have  a 
friend." 

Sara  could  not  even  imagine  a  being  charming  enough  to 
fill  her  grand  ideal  of  her  mysterious  benefactor.  If  she 
tried  to  make  in  her  mind  a  picture  of  him  or  her,  it  ended 
by  being  something  glittering  and  strange — not  at  all  like  a 
real  person,  but  bearing  resemblance  to  a  sort  of  Eastern 
magician,  with  long  robes  and  a  wand.     And  when  she  fell 


5 6  SARA    CREWE ;   OR, 

asleep,  beneath  the  soft  white  blanket,  she  dreamed  all  night 
of  this  magnificent  personage,  and  talked  to  him  in  Hindu- 
stani, and  made  salaams  to  him. 

Upon  one  thing  she  was  determined.  She  would  not 
speak  to  any  one  of  her  good  fortune — it  should  be  her  own 
secret ;  in  fact,  she  was  rather  inclined  to  think  that  if  Miss 
Minchin  knew,  she  would  take  her  treasures  from  her  or  in 
some  way  spoil  her  pleasure.  So,  when  she  went  down  the 
next  morning,  she  shut  her  door  very  tight  and  did  her  best 
to  look  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  occurred.  And  yet  this 
was  rather  hard,  because  she  could  not  help  remembering, 
every  now  and  then,  with  a  sort  of  start,  and  her  heart  would 
beat  quickly  every  time  she  repeated  to  herself,  "  I  have  a 
friend  ! " 

It  was  a  friend  who  evidently  meant  to  continue  to  be 
kind,  for  when  she  went  to  her  garret  the  next  night — and 
she  opened  the  door,  it  must  be  confessed,  with  rather  an  ex- 
cited feeling — she  found  that  the  same  hands  had  been  again 
at  work,  and  had  done  even  more  than  before.  The  fire  and 
the  supper  were  again  there,  and  beside  them  a  number  of 
other  things  which  so  altered  the  look  of  the  garret  that  Sara 
quite  lost  her  breath.  A  piece  of  bright,  strange,  heavy  cloth 
covered  the  battered  mantel,  and  on  it  some  ornaments  had 
been  placed.  All  the  bare,  ugly  things  which  could  be  cov- 
ered with  draperies  had  been  concealed  and  made  to  look 
quite  pretty.  Some  odd  materials  in  rich  colors  had  been 
fastened  against  the  walls  with  sharp,  fine  tacks — so  sharp  that 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  57 

they  could  be  pressed  into  the  wood  without  hammering.  Some 
brilliant  fans  were  pinned  up,  and  there  were  several  large 
cushions.  A  long,  old  wooden  box  was  covered  with  a  rug, 
and  some  cushions  lay  on  it,  so  that  it  wore  quite  the  air  of  a 
sofa. 

Sara  simply  sat  down,  and  looked,  and  looked  again. 

"  It  is  exactly  like  something  fairy  come  true,"  she  said  ; 
"  there  isn't  the  least  difference.  I  feel  as  if  I  might  wish  for 
anything — diamonds  and  bags  of  gold — and  they  would  ap- 
pear !  That  couldn't  be  any  stranger  than  this.  Is  this  my 
garret?  Am  I  the  same  cold,  ragged,  damp  Sara?  And  to 
think  how  I  used  to  pretend,  and  pretend,  and  wish  there 
were  fairies  !  The  one  thing  I  always  wanted  was  to  see  a 
fairy  story  come  true.  I  am  living  in  a  fairy  story  !  I  feel 
as  if  I  might  be  a  fairy  myself,  and  be  able  to  turn  things 
into  anything  else  ! " 

It  was  like  a  fairy  story,  and,  what  was  best  of  all,  it  con- 
tinued. Almost  every  day  something  new  was  done  to  the 
garret.  Some  new  comfort  or  ornament  appeared  in  it  when 
Sara  opened  her  door  at  night,  until  actually,  in  a  short  time,  it 
was  a  bright  little  room,  full  of  all  sorts  of  odd  and  luxurious 
things.  And  the  magician  had  taken  care  that  the  child 
should  not  be  hungry,  and  that  she  should  have  as  many 
books  as  she  could  read.  When  she  left  the  room  in  the 
morning,  the  remains  of  her  supper  were  on  the  table,  and 
when  she  returned  in  the  evening,  the  magician  had  removed 
them,   and   left  another  nice   little   meal.      Downstairs   Miss 


58  SARA    CREWE j   OR, 

Minchin  was  as  cruel  and  insulting  as  ever,  Miss  Amelia 
was  as  peevish,  and  the  servants  were  as  vulgar.  Sara  was 
sent  on  errands,  and  scolded,  and  driven  hither  and  thither, 
but  somehow  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  bear  it  all.  The  de- 
lightful sense  of  romance  and  mystery  lifted  her  above  the 
cook's  temper  and  malice.  The  comfort  she  enjoyed  and 
could  always  look  forward  to  was  making  her  stronger.  If 
she  came  home  from  her  errands  wet  and  tired,  she  knew 
she  would  soon  be  warm,  after  she  had  climbed  the  stairs. 
In  a  few  weeks  she  began  to  look  less  thin.  A  little  color 
came  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  did  not  seem  much  too 
big  for  her  face. 

It  was  just  when  this  was  beginning  to  be  so  apparent 
that  Miss  Minchin  sometimes  stared  at  her  questioningly, 
that  another  wonderful  thing  happened.  A  man  came  to  the 
door  and  left  several  parcels.  All  were  addressed  (in  large 
letters)  to  "the  little  girl  in  the  attic."  Sara  herself  was  sent 
to  open  the  door,  and  she  took  them  in.  She  laid  the  two 
largest  parcels  down  on  the  hall-table  and  was  looking  at  the 
address,  when  Miss  Minchin  came  down  the  stairs. 

"  Take  the  things  upstairs  to  the  young  lady  to  whom  they 
belong,"  she  said.     "  Don't  stand  there  staring  at  them." 

"  They  belong  to  me,"  answered  Sara,  quietly. 

"To  you!"  exclaimed  Miss  Minchin.  "What  do  you 
mean  ? " 

"I  don't  know  where  they  came  from,"  said  Sara,  "but 
they're  addressed  to  me." 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  59 


Miss  Minchin  came  to  her  side  and  looked  at  them  with  an 
excited  expression. 

"  What  is  in  them  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Sara. 

"  Open  them  !"  she  demanded,  still  more  excitedly. 

Sara  did  as  she  was  told.  They  contained  pretty  and 
comfortable  clothing, — clothing  of  different  kinds  ;  shoes  and 
stockings  and  gloves,  a  warm  coat,  and  even  an  umbrella. 
On  the  pocket  of  the  coat  was  pinned  a  paper  on  which  was 
written,  "  To  be  worn  every  day — will  be  replaced  by  others 
when  necessary." 

Miss  Minchin  was  quite  agitated.  This  was  an  incident 
which  suggested  strange  things  to  her  sordid  mind.  Could  it 
be  that  she  had  made  a  mistake  after  all,  and  that  the  child  so 
neglected  and  so  unkindly  treated  by  her  had  some  powerful 
friend  in  the  background  ?  It  would  not  be  very  pleasant  if 
there  should  be  such  a  friend,  and  he  or  she  should  learn  all 
the  truth  about  the  thin,  shabby  clothes,  the  scant  food,  the 
hard  work.  She  felt  queer  indeed  and  uncertain,  and  she 
gave  a  side-glance  at  Sara. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  such  as  she  had  never  used 
since  the  day  the  child  lost  her  father — "well,  some  one  is 
very  kind  to  you.  As  you  have  the  things  and  are  to  have 
new  ones  when  they  are  worn  out,  you  may  as  well  go  and 
put  them  on  and  look  respectable  ;  and  after  you  are  dressed, 
you  may  come  downstairs  and  learn  your  lessons  in  the 
school-room." 


6o  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

So  it  happened  that,  about  half  an  hour  afterward,  Sara 
struck  the  entire  school-room  of  pupils  dumb  with  amazement, 
by  making  her  appearance  in  a  costume  such  as  she  had  never 
worn  since  the  change  of  fortune  whereby  she  ceased  to  be  a 
show-pupil  and  a  parlor-boarder.  She  scarcely  seemed  to  be 
the  same  Sara.  She  was  neatly  dressed  in  a  pretty  gown  of 
warm  browns  and  reds,  and  even  her  stockings  and  slippers 
were  nice  and  dainty. 

"  Perhaps  some  one  has  left  her  a  fortune,"  one  of  the  girls 
whispered.  "  I  always  thought  something  would  happen  to 
her,  she  is  so  queer." 

That  night  when  Sara  went  to  her  room  she  carried  out  a 
plan  she  had  been  devising  for  some  time.  She  wrote  a  note 
to  her  unknown  friend.      It  ran  as  follows  : 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  think  it  is  not  polite  that  I  should  write  this  note  to 
you  when  you  wish  to  keep  yourself  a  secret,  but  I  do  not  mean  to  be  impolite, 
or  to  try  to  find  out  at  all,  only  I  want  to  thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to  me — 
so  beautiful  kind,  and  making  everything  like  a  fairy  story.  I  am  so  grateful 
to  you  and  I  am  so  happy  !  I  used  to  be  so  lonely  and  cold  and,  hungry,  and 
now,  oh,  just  think  what  you  have  done  for  me  !  Please  let  me  say  just  these 
words.  It  seems  as  if  I  ought  to  say  them.  Thank  yon — thank  you — thank 
you  !  The  Little  Girl  in  the  Attic" 

The  next  morning  she  left  this  on  the  little  table,  and  it  was 
taken  away  with  the  other  things  ;  so  she  felt  sure  the  magi- 
cian had  received  it,  and  she  was  happier  for  the  thought. 

A  few  nights  later  a  very  odd  thing  happened.  She  found 
something  in  the  room  which  she  certainly  would  never  have 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  61 

expected.  When  she  came  in  as  usual  she  saw  something 
small  and  dark  in  her  chair, — an  odd,  tiny  figure,  which  turned 
toward  her  a  little,  weird-looking,  wistful  face. 

"Why,  it's  the  monkey!"  she  cried.  "It  is  the  Indian 
Gentleman's  monkey  !     Where  can  he  have  come  from  ?" 

It  was  the  monkey,  sitting  up  and  looking  so  like  a  mite 
of  a  child  that  it  really  was  quite  pathetic  ;  and  very  soon 
Sara  found  out  how  he  happened  to  be  in  her  room.  The  sky- 
light was  open,  and  it  was  easy  to  guess  that  he  had  crept  out 
of  his  master's  garret-window,  which  was  only  a  few  feet  away 
and  perfectly  easy  to  get  in  and  out  of,  even  for  a  climber  less 
agile  than  a  monkey.  He  had  probably  climbed  to  the  garret 
on  a  tour  of  investigation,  and  getting  out  upon  the  roof,  and 
being  attracted  by  the  light  in  Sara's  attic,  had  crept  in.  At 
all  events  this  seemed  quite  reasonable,  and  there  he  was  ; 
and  when  Sara  went  to  him,  he  actually  put  out  his  queer, 
elfish  little  hands,  caught  her  dress,  and  jumped  into  her 
arms. 

"  Oh,  you  queer,  poor,  ugly,  foreign  little  thing  !  "  said 
Sara,  caressing  him.  "  I  can't  help  liking  you.  You  look 
like  a  sort  of  baby,  but  I  am  so  glad  you  are  not,  because  your 
mother  could  not  be  proud  of  you,  and  nobody  would  dare 
to  say  you  were  like  any  of  your  relations.  But  I  do  like  you  ; 
you  have  such  a  forlorn  little  look  in  your  face.  Perhaps  you 
are  sorry  you  are  so  ugly,  and  it's  always  on  your  mind.  I 
wonder  if  you  have  a  mind  ?  " 

The  monkey  sat  and  looked  at  her  while  she  talked,  and 


62  SARA    CREWE j   OR, 

seemed  much  interested  in  her  remarks,  if  one  could  judge  by 
his  eyes  and  his  forehead,  and  the  way  he  moved  his  head  up 
and  down,  and  held  it  sideways  and  scratched  it  with  his  little 
hand.  He  examined  Sara  quite  seriously,  and  anxiously,  too. 
He  felt  the  stuff  of  her  dress,  touched  her  hands,  climbed  up 
and  examined  her  ears,  and  then  sat  on  her  shoulder  holding 
a  lock  of  her  hair,  looking  mournful  but  not  at  all  agitated. 
Upon  the  whole,  he  seemed  pleased  with  Sara. 

"  But  I  must  take  you  back,"  she  said  to  him,  "though  I'm 
sorry  to  have  to  do  it.  Oh,  the  company  you  would  be  to  a 
person ! " 

She  lifted  him  from  her  shoulder,  set  him  on  her  knee, 
and  gave  him  a  bit  of  cake.  He  sat  and  nibbled  it,  and  then 
put  his  head  on  one  side,  looked  at  her,  wrinkled  his  forehead, 
and  then  nibbled  again,  in  the  most  companionable  manner. 

"  But  you  must  go  home,"  said  Sara  at  last ;  and  she  took 
him  in  her  arms  to  carry  him  downstairs.  Evidently  he  did 
not  want  to  leave  the  room,  for  as  they  reached  the  door  he 
clung  to  her  neck  and  gave  a  little  scream  of  anger. 

"  You  mustn't  be  an  ungrateful  monkey,"  said  Sara.  "  You 
ought  to  be  fondest  of  your  own  family.  I  am  sure  the  Las- 
car is  good  to  you." 

Nobody  saw  her  on  her  way  out,  and  very  soon  she  was 
standing  on  the  Indian  Gentleman's  front  steps,  and  the  Las- 
car had  opened  the  door  for  her. 

"  I  found  your  monkey  in  my  room,"  she  said  in  Hindu- 
stani.    "  I  think  he  got  in  through  the  window." 


THE   MONKEY    SEEMED    MUCH    INTERESTED    IN    HER    REMARKS. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MIN CHIN'S.  65 


The  man  began  a  rapid  outpouring  of  thanks  ;  but,  just  as 
he  was  in  the  midst  of  them,  a  fretful,  hollow  voice  was  heard 
through  the  open  door  of  the  nearest  room.  The  instant  he 
heard  it  the  Lascar  disappeared,  and  left  Sara  still  holding 
the  monkey. 

It  was  not  many  moments,  however,  before  he  came  back 
bringing  a  message.  His  master  had  told  him  to  bring  Missy 
into  the  library.  The  Sahib  was  very  ill,  but  he  wished  to  see 
Missy. 

Sara  thought  this  odd,  but  she  remembered  reading  stories 
of  Indian  gentlemen  who,  having  no  constitutions,  were  ex- 
tremely cross  and  full  of  whims,  and  who  must  have  their  own 
way.     So  she  followed  the  Lascar. 

When  she  entered  the  room  the  Indian  Gentleman  was 
lying  on  an  easy  chair,  propped  up  with  pillows.  He  looked 
frightfully  ill.  His  yellow  face  was  thin,  and  his  eyes  were 
hollow.  He  gave  Sara  a  rather  curious  look — it  was  as  if  she 
wakened  in  him  some  anxious  interest. 

"  You  live  next  door  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Sara.     "  I  live  at  Miss  Minchin's." 

"  She  keeps  a  boarding-school  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Sara. 

"  And  you  are  one  of  her  pupils  ?  " 

Sara  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  am,"  she  replied. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  the  Indian  Gentleman. 

The  monkey  gave  a  tiny  squeak,  and  Sara  stroked  him. 


66  SARA    CREWE j   OR, 

"At  first,"  she  said,  "I  was  a  pupil  and  a  parlor  boarder  ; 
but  now " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'at  first'?"  asked  the  Indian 
Gentleman. 

"When  I  was  first  taken  there  by  my  papa." 

"  Well,  what  has  happened  since  then  ? "  said  the  invalid, 
staring  at  her  and  knitting  his  brows  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"  My  papa  died,"  said  Sara.  "  He  lost  all  his  money, 
and  there  was  none  left  for  me — and  there  was  no  one  to 
take  care  of  me  or  pay  Miss  Minchin,  so " 

"  So  you  were  sent  up  into  the  garret  and  neglected,  and 
made  into  a  half-starved  little  drudge  ! "  put  in  the  Indian 
Gentleman.      "That  is  about  it,  isn't  it?" 

The  color  deepened  on  Sara's  cheeks. 

"  There  was  no  one  to  take  care  of  me,  and  no  money," 
she  said.      "  I  belong  to  nobody." 

"What  did  your  father  mean  by  losing  his  money  ?  "  said 
the  gentleman,  fretfully. 

The  red  in  Sara's  cheeks  grew  deeper,  and  she  fixed  her 
odd  eyes  on  the  yellow  face. 

"  He  did  not  lose  it  himself,"  she  said.  "  He  had  a  friend 
he  was  fond  of,  and  it  was  his  friend  who  took  his  money.  I 
don't  know  how.  I  don't  understand.  He  trusted  his  friend 
too  much." 

She  saw  the  invalid  start — the  strangest  start — as  if  he 
had  been  suddenly  frightened.  Then  he  spoke  nervously 
and  excitedly  : 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  67 

"That's  an  old  story,"  he  said.  "  It  happens  every  day  ; 
but  sometimes  those  who  are  blamed — those  who  do  the 
wrong — don't  intend  it,  and  are  not  so  bad.  It  may  happen 
through  a  mistake — a  miscalculation  ;  they  may  not  be  so 
bad." 

"  No,"  said  Sara,  "  but  the  suffering  is  just  as  bad  for  the 
others.      It  killed  my  papa." 

The  Indian  Gentleman  pushed  aside  some  of  the  gor- 
geous wraps  that  covered  him. 

"  Come  a  little  nearer,  and  let  me  look  at  you,"  he  said. 

His  voice  sounded  very  strange  ;  it  had  a  more  nervous 
and  excited  tone  than  before.  Sara  had  an  odd  fancy  that 
he  was  half  afraid  to  look  at  her.  She  came  and  stood  nearer, 
the  monkey  clinging  to  her  and  watching  his  master  anxiously 
over  his  shoulder. 

The  Indian  Gentleman's  hollow,  restless  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves on  her. 

"Yes,"  he  said  at  last.  "Yes;  I  can  see  it.  Tell  me 
your  father's  name." 

"  His  name  was  Ralph  Crewe,"  said  Sara.  "  Captain 
Crewe.  Perhaps," — a  sudden  thought  flashing  upon  her, — 
"perhaps  you   may  have  heard   of  him?     He  died  in  India." 

The  Indian  Gentleman  sank  back  upon  his  pillows.  He 
looked  very  weak,  and  seemed  out  of  breath. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  knew  him.  I  was  his  friend.  I  meant 
no  harm.  If  he  had  only  lived  he  would  have  known.  It 
turned  out  well  after  all.      He  was  a  fine   young  fellow.      I 


68  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

was  fond  of  him.  I  will  make  it  right.  Call — call  the 
man." 

Sara  thought  he  was  going  to  die.  But  there  was  no 
need  to  call  the  Lascar.  He  must  have  been  waiting  at  the 
door.  He  was  in  the  room  and  by  his  master's  side  in  an 
instant.  He  seemed  to  know  what  to  do.  He  lifted  the 
drooping  head,  and  gave  the  invalid  something  in  a  small 
glass.  The  Indian  Gentleman  lay  panting  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  he  spoke  in  an  exhausted  but  eager  voice,  address- 
ing- the  Lascar  in  Hindustani  : 

"Go  for  Carmichael,"  he  said.  "Tell  him  to  come  here 
at  once.     Tell  him  I  have  found  the  child  ! " 

When  Mr.  Carmichael  arrived  (which  occurred  in  a  very 
few  minutes,  for  it  turned  out  that  he  was  no  other  than  the 
father  of  the  Large  Family  across  the  street),  Sara  went  home, 
and  was  allowed  to  take  the  monkey  with  her.  She  certainly 
did  not  sleep  very  much  that  night,  though  the  monkey 
behaved  beautifully,  and  did  not  disturb  her  in  the  least.  It 
was  not  the  monkey  that  kept  her  awake — it  was  her  thoughts, 
and  her  wonders  as  to  what  the  Indian  Gentleman  had  meant 
when  he  said,  "  Tell  him  I  have  found  the  child."  "  What 
child  ?  "  Sara  kept  asking  herself.  "  I  was  the  only  child 
there  ;  but  how  had  he  found  me,  and  why  did  he  want  to 
find  me  ?  And  what  is  he  groins  to  do,  now  I  am  found?  Is 
it  something  about  my  papa  ?  Do  I  belong  to  somebody? 
Is  he  one  of  my  relations  ?     Is  something  going  to  happen  ?" 

But  she  found  out  the  very  next  day,  in  the  morning  ;  and 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN' S.  69 

it  seemed  that  she  had  been  living  in  a  story  even  more  than 
she  had  imagined.  First,  Mr.  Carmichael  came  and  had  an 
interview  with  Miss  Minchin.  And  it  appeared  that  Mr.  Car- 
michael, besides  occupying  the  important  situation  of  father 
to  the  Large  Family,  was  a  lawyer,  and  had  charge  of  the 
affairs  of  Mr.  Carrisford — which  was  the  real  name  of  the 
Indian  Gentleman — and,  as  Mr.  Carrisford's  lawyer,  Mr. 
Carmichael  had  come  to  explain  something  curious  to  Miss 
Minchin  regarding  Sara.  But,  being  the  father  of  the  Large 
Family,  he  had  a  very  kind  and  fatherly  feeling  for  children  ; 
and  so,  after  seeing  Miss  Minchin  alone,  what  did  he  do  but 
go  and  bring  across  the  square  his  rosy,  motherly,  warm- 
hearted wife,  so  that  she  herself  might  talk  to  the  little  lonely 
girl,  and  tell  her  everything  in  the  best  and  most  motherly 
way. 

And  then  Sara  learned  that  she  was  to  be  a  poor  little 
drudge  and  outcast  no  more,  and  that  a  great  change  had  come 
in  her  fortunes ;  for  all  the  lost  fortune  had  come  back  to  her, 
and  a  great  deal  had  even  been  added  to  it.  It  was  Mr.  Car- 
risford who  had  been  her  father's  friend,  and  who  had  made 
the  investments  which  had  caused  him  the  apparent  loss  of 
his  money  ;  but  it  had  so  happened  that  after  poor  young 
Captain  Crewe's  death  one  of  the  investments  which  had 
seemed  at  the  time  the  very  worst  had  taken  a  sudden  turn, 
and  proved  to  be  such  a  success  that  it  had  been  a  mine  of 
wealth,  and  had  more  than  doubled  the  Captain's  lost  fortune, 
as  well  as  making  a  fortune  for  Mr.  Carrisford  himself.      But 


7o  SARA    CREWE ;   OR, 

Mr.  Carrisford  had  been  very  unhappy.  He  had  truly  loved 
his  poor,  handsome,  generous  young  friend,  and  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  had  caused  his  death  had  weighed  upon  him 
always,  and  broken  both  his  health  and  spirit.  The  worst  of 
it  had  been  that,  when  first  he  thought  himself  and  Captain 
Crewe  ruined,  he  had  lost  courage  and  gone  away  because  he 
was  not  brave  enough  to  face  the  consequences  of  what  he  had 
done,  and  so  he  had  not  even  known  where  the  young  soldier's 
little  girl  had  been  placed.  When  he  wanted  to  find  her,  and 
make  restitution,  he  could  discover  no  trace  of  her;  and  the 
certainty  that  she  was  poor  and  friendless  somewhere  had  made 
him  more  miserable  than  ever.  When  he  had  taken  the 
house  next  to  Miss  Minchin's  he  had  been  so  ill  and  wretched 
that  he  had  for  the  time  given  up  the  search.  His  troubles 
and  the  Indian  climate  had  brought  him  almost  to  death's 
door — indeed,  he  had  not  expected  to  live  more  than  a  few 
months.  And  then  one  day  the  Lascar  had  told  him  about 
Sara's  speaking  Hindustani,  and  gradually  he  had  begun  to 
take  a  sort  of  interest  in  the  forlorn  child,  though  he  had  only 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  once  or  twice  and  he  had  not  con- 
nected her  with  the  child  of  his  friend,  perhaps  because  he 
was  too  languid  to  think  much  about  anything.  But  the  Las- 
car had  found  out  something  of  Sara's  unhappy  little  life, 
and  about  the  garret.  One  evening  he  had  actually  crept 
out  of  his  own  garret-window  and  looked  into  hers,  which  was 
a  very  easy  matter,  because,  as  I  have  said,  it  was  only  a  few 
feet  away — and  he  had  told  his  master  what  he  had  seen,  and 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  71 

in  a  moment  of  compassion  the  Indian  Gentleman  had  told 
him  to  take  into  the  wretched  little  room  such  comforts  as  he 
could  carry  from  the  one  window  to  the  other.  And  the  Las- 
car, who  had  developed  an  interest  in,  and  an  odd  fondness  for, 
the  child  who  had  spoken  to  him  in  his  own  tongue,  had  been 
pleased  with  the  work  ;  and,  having  the  silent  swiftness  and 
agile  movements  of  many  of  his  race,  he  had  made  his  evening 
journeys  across  the  few  feet  of  roof  from  garret-window  to 
garret-window,  without  any  trouble  at  all.  He  had  watched 
Sara's  movements  until  he  knew  exactly  when  she  was  absent 
from  her  room  and  when  she  returned  to  it,  and  so  he  had 
been  able  to  calculate  the  best  times  for  his  work.  Generally 
he  had  made  them  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening;  but  once  or 
twice,  when  he  had  seen  her  go  out  on  errands,  he  had  dared 
to  go  over  in  the  daytime,  being  quite  sure  that  the  garret 
was  never  entered  by  any  one  but  herself.  His  pleasure  in 
the  work  and  his  reports  of  the  results  had  added  to  the  in- 
valid's interest  in  it,  and  sometimes  the  master  had  found  the 
planning  gave  him  something  to  think  of,  which  made  him 
almost  forget  his  weariness  and  pain.  And  at  last,  when  Sara 
brought  home  the  truant  monkey,  he  had  felt  a  wish  to  see 
her,  and  then  her  likeness  to  her  father  had  done  the  rest. 

"  And  now,  my  dear,"  said  good  Mrs.  Carmichael,  patting 
Sara's  hand,  "  all  your  troubles  are  over,  I  am  sure,  and  you 
are  to  come  home  with  me  and  be  taken  care  of  as  if  you 
were  one  of  my  own  little  girls  ;  and  we  are  so  pleased  to  think 
of  having  you  with  us  until  everything  is  settled,  and    Mr. 


72  SARA    CREWE;   OR 


Carrisford  is  better.  The  excitement  of  last  night  has  made 
him  very  weak,  but  we  really  think  he  will  get  well,  now  that 
such  a  load  is  taken  from  his  mind.  And  when  he  is 
stronger,  I  am  sure  he  will  be  as  kind  to  you  as  your  own 
papa  would  have  been.  He  has  a  very  good  heart,  and  he  is 
fond  of  children — and  he  has  no  family  at  all.  But  we  must 
make  you   happy  and  rosy,  and  you  must  learn  to  play  and 

run  about,  as  my  little  girls  do " 

"  As  your  little  girls  do  ?  "  said  Sara.  "  I  wonder  if  I 
could.  I  used  to  watch  them  and  wonder  what  it  was  like. 
Shall  I  feel  as  if  I  belonged  to  somebody  ?  " 

'  Ah,  my  love,  yes  ! — yes  !  "  said  Mrs.  Carmichael ;  "  dear 
me,  yes  !  "  And  her  motherly  blue  eyes  grew  quite  moist, 
and  she  suddenly  took  Sara  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her.  That 
very  night,  before  she  went  to  sleep,  Sara  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  entire  Large  Family,  and  such  excitement 
as  she  and  the  monkey  had  caused  in  that  joyous  circle  could 
hardly  be  described.  There  was  not  a  child  in  the  nursery, 
from  the  Eton  boy  who  was  the  eldest,  to  the  baby  who  was 
the  youngest,  who  had  not  laid  some  offering  on  her  shrine. 
All  the  older  ones  knew  something  of  her  wonderful  story. 
She  had  been  born  in  India  ;  she  had  been  poor  and  lonely 
and  unhappy,  and  had  lived  in  a  garret  and  been  treated  un- 
kindly ;  and  now  she  was  to  be  rich  and  happy,  and  be  taken 
care  of.  They  were  so  sorry  for  her,  and  so  delighted  and 
curious  about  her,  all  at  once.  The  girls  wished  to  be  with 
her  constantly,  and  the  little  boys  wished  to  be  told  about 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  73 

India  ;  the  second  baby,  with  the  short  round  legs,  simply  sat 
and  stared  at  her  and  the  monkey,  possibly  wondering  why 
she  had  not  brought  a  hand-organ  with  her. 

"  I  shall  certainly  wake  up  presently,"  Sara  kept  saying 
to  herself.  "  This  one  must  be  a  dream.  The  other  one 
turned  out  to  be  real ;  but  this  conldrit  be.  But,  oh  !  how 
happy  it  is  !  " 

And  even  when  she  went  to  bed,  in  the  bright,  pretty 
room  not  far  from  Mrs.  Carmichael's  own,  and  Mrs.  Carmichael 
came  and  kissed  her  and  patted  her  and  tucked  her  in  cozily, 
she  was  not  sure  that  she  would  not  wake  up  in  the  garret  in 
the  morning-. 

"  And  oh,  Charles,  dear,"  Mrs.  Carmichael  said  to  her  hus- 
band, when  she  went  downstairs  to  him,  "  we  must  get  that 
lonely  look  out  of  her  eyes  !  It  isn't  a  child's  look  at  all.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  see  it  in  one  of  my  own  children.  What  the 
poor  little  love  must  have  had  to  bear  in  that  dreadful 
woman's  house  !     But,  surely,  she  will  forget  it  in  time." 

But  though  the  lonely  look  passed  away  from  Sara's  face, 
she  never  quite  forgot  the  garret  at  Miss  Minchin's  ;  and,  in- 
deed, she  always  liked  to  remember  the  wonderful  night  when 
the  tired  princess  crept  upstairs,  cold  and  wet,  and  opening 
the  door  found  fairy-land  waiting  for  her.  And  there  was  no 
one  of  the  many  stories  she  was  always  being  called  upon  to 
tell  in  the  nursery  of  the  Large  Family  which  was  more  pop- 
ular than  that  particular  one  ;  and  there  was  no  one  of  whom 
the  Large  Family  were  so  fond  as  of  Sara.     Mr.  Carrisford 


74  SARA    CREWE j   OR, 


did  not  die,  but  recovered,  and  Sara  went  to  live  with  him  ;  and 
no  real  princess  could  have  been  better  taken  care  of  than  she 
was.  It  seemed  that  the  Indian  Gentleman  could  not  do 
enough  to  make  her  happy,  and  to  repay  her  for  the  past ;  and 
the  Lascar  was  her  devoted  slave.  As  her  odd  little  face  grew 
brighter,  it  grew  so  pretty  and  interesting  that  Mr.  Carrisford 
used  to  sit  and  watch  it  many  an  evening,  as  they  sat  by  the  fire 
together. 

They  became  great  friends,  and  they  used  to  spend  hours 
reading  and  talking  together  ;  and,  in  a  very  short  time,  there 
was  no  pleasanter  sight  to  the  Indian  Gentleman  than  Sara 
sitting  in  her  big  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth, 
with  a  book  on  her  knee  and  her  soft,  dark  hair  tumbling  over 
her  warm  cheeks.  She  had  a  pretty  habit  of  looking  up  at 
him  suddenly,  with  a  bright  smile,  and  then  he  would  often 
say  to  her  : 

"  Are  you  happy,   Sara  ?  " 

And  then  she  would  answer  : 

"  I  feel  like  a  real  princess,  Uncle  Tom." 

He  had  told  her  to  call  him  Uncle  Tom. 

"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  left  to  'suppose,''' 
she  added. 

There  was  a  little  joke  between  them  that  he  was  a  magi- 
cian, and  so  could  do  anything  he  liked ;  and  it  was  one  of  his 
pleasures  to  invent  plans  to  surprise  her  with  enjoyments  she 
had  not  thought  of.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  in  which  he  did 
not  do  something  new  for  her.     Sometimes  she  found  new 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  75 

flowers  in  her  room  ;  sometimes  a  fanciful  little  gift  tucked 
into  some  odd  corner ;  sometimes  a  new  book  on  her  pillow ; 
— once  as  they  sat  together  in  the  evening  they  heard  the 
scratch  of  a  heavy  paw  on  the  door  of  the  room,  and  when 
Sara  went  to  find  out  what  it  was,  there  stood  a  great  dog — a 
splendid  Russian  boar-hound  with  a  grand  silver  and  gold  col- 
lar. Stooping  to  read  the  inscription  upon  the  collar,  Sara 
was  delighted  to  read  the  words  :  "  I  am  Boris  ;  I  serve  the 
Princess  Sara." 

Then  there  was  a  sort  of  fairy  nursery  arranged  for  the 
entertainment  of  the  juvenile  members  of  the  Large  Family, 
who  were  always  coming  to  see  Sara  and  the  Lascar  and  the 
monkey.  Sara  was  as  fond  of  the  Large  Family  as  they  were 
of  her.  She  soon  felt  as  if  she  were  a  member  of  it,  and 
the  companionship  of  the  healthy,  happy  children  was  very 
good  for  her.  All  the  children  rather  looked  up  to  her  and 
regarded  her  as  the  cleverest  and  most  brilliant  of  creatures — 
particularly  after  it  was  discovered  that  she  not  only  knew 
stories  of  every  kind,  and  could  invent  new  ones  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  but  that  she  could  help  with  lessons,  and  speak 
French  and  German,  and  discourse  with  the  Lascar  in  Hindu- 
stani. 

It  was  rather  a  painful  experience  for  Miss  Minchin  to 
watch  her  ex-pupil's  fortunes,  as  she  had  the  daily  opportunity 
to  do,  and  to  feel  that  she  had  made  a  serious  mistake,  from  a 
business  point  of  view.  She  had  even  tried  to  retrieve  it  by 
suggesting  that  Sara's  education  should  be  continued  under 


7 6  SARA    CREWE j   OR, 

her  care,  and  had  gone  to  the  length  of  making  an  appeal  to 
the  child  herself. 

"I   have  always  been  very  fond  of  you,"  she  said. 

Then  Sara  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  and  gave  her  one  of 
her  odd  looks. 

"  Have  you  ?  "  she  answered. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Minchin.  "  Amelia  and  I  have  always 
said  you  were  the  cleverest  child  we  had  with  us,  and  I  am 
sure  we  could  make  you  happy — as  a  parlor  boarder." 

Sara  thought  of  the  garret  and  the  day  her  ears  were 
boxed, — and  of  that  other  day,  that  dreadful,  desolate  day 
when  she  had  been  told  that  she  belonged  to  nobody  ;  that 
she  had  no  home  and  no  friends, — and  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
on  Miss  Minchin's  face. 

"  You  know  why  I  would  not  stay  with  you,"  she 
said. 

And  it  seems  probable  that  Miss  Minchin  did,  for  after 
that  simple  answer  she  had  not  the  boldness  to  pursue  the 
subject.  She  merely  sent  in  a  bill  for  the  expense  of  Sara's 
education  and  support,  and  she  made  it  quite  large  enough. 
And  because  Mr.  Carrisford  thought  Sara  would  wish  it  paid, 
it  was  paid.  When  Mr.  Carmichael  paid  it  he  had  a  brief 
interview  with  Miss  Minchin  in  which  he  expressed  his  opin- 
ion with  much  clearness  and  force  ;  and  it  is  quite  certain  that 
Miss  Minchin  did  not  enjoy  the  conversation. 

Sara  had  been  about  a  month  with  Mr.  Carrisford,  and 
had  begun   to   realize  that  her  happiness  was  not  a  dream, 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  77 

when  one  night  the  Indian  Gentleman  saw  that  she  sat  a  long 
time  with  her  cheek  on  her  hand  looking  at  the  fire. 

"  What  are  you  '  supposing,'  Sara  ? "  he  asked.  Sara 
looked  up  with  a  bright  color  on  her  cheeks. 

"  I  was  '  supposing,'  v  she  said  ;  "  I  was  remembering  that 
hungry  day,  and  a  child  I  saw." 

"  But  there  were  a  great  many  hungry  days,"  said  the  In- 
dian Gentleman,  with  a  rather  sad  tone  in  his  voice.  "  Which 
hungry  day  was  it  ?  " 

"  I  forgot  you  didn't  know,"  said  Sara.  "It  was  the  day 
I  found  the  things  in  my  garret." 

And  then  she  told  him  the  story  of  the  bun-shop,  and  the 
fourpence,  and  the  child  who  was  hungrier  than  herself  ;  and 
somehow  as  she  told  it,  though  she  told  it  very  simply  in- 
deed, the  Indian  Gentleman  found  it  necessary  to  shade  his 
eyes  with  his  hand  and  look  down  at  the  floor. 

"And  I  was  -  supposing'  a  kind  of  plan,"  said  Sara,  when  she 
had  finished  ;  "  I  was  thinking  I  would  like  to  do  something." 

"What  is  it?"  said  her  guardian  in  a  low  tone.  "You 
may  do  anything  you  like  to  do,  Princess." 

"  I  was  wondering,"  said  Sara, — "  you  know  you  say  I  have 
a  great  deal  of  money — and  I  was  wondering  if  I  could  go 
and  see  the  bun-woman  and  tell  her  that  if,  when  hungry 
children — particularly  on  those  dreadful  days — come  and  sit 
on  the  steps  or  look  in  at  the  window,  she  would  just  call  them 
in  and  give  them  something  to  eat,  she  might  send  the  bills 
to  me  and  I  would  pay  them — could  I  do  that  ? " 


7 8  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

"  You  shall  do  it  to-morrow  morning,"  said  the  Indian 
Gentleman. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Sara;  "you  see  I  know  what  it  is  to 
be  hungry,  and  it  is  very  hard  when  one  can't  even  pre tend  it 
away." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,"  said  the  Indian  Gentleman.  "  Yes, 
it  must  be.  Try  to  forget  it.  Come  and  sit  on  this  foot- 
stool near  my  knee,  and  only  remember  you  are  a  prin- 
cess. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sara,  "and  I  can  give  buns  and  bread  to  the 
Populace."  And  she  went  and  sat  on  the  stool,  and  the  In- 
dian Gentleman  (he  used  to  like  her  to  call  him  that,  too, 
sometimes, — in  fact  very  often)  drew  her  small,  dark  head 
down  upon  his  knee  and  stroked  her  hair. 

The  next  morning  a  carriage  drew  up  before  the  door  of 
the  baker's  shop,  and  a  gentleman  and  a  little  girl  got  out, — 
oddly  enough,  just  as  the  bun-woman  was  putting  a  tray  of 
smoking  hot  buns  into  the  window.  When  Sara  entered 
the  shop  the  woman  turned  and  looked  at  her  and,  leaving 
the  buns,  came  and  stood  behind  the  counter.  For  a  moment 
she  looked  at  Sara  very  hard  indeed,  and  then  her  good- 
natured  face  lighted  up. 

"  I'm  that  sure  I  remember  you,  miss,"  she  said.  "  And 
yet 

"  Yes,"  said  Sara,  "  once  you  gave  me  six  buns  for  four- 
pence,  and " 

"And  you   gave   five  of  'em  to  a  beggar-child,"  said  the 


"  HE   DREW   HER    SMALL   DARK    HEAD    DOWN    UPON    HIS   KNEE   AND    STROKED    HER   HAIR. 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MINCHIN'S.  81 

woman.  "I've  always  remembered  it.  I  couldn't  make  it 
out  at  first.  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  there's  not  many  young 
people  that  notices  a  hungry  face  in  that  way,  and  I've  thought 
of  it  many  a  time.  Excuse  the  liberty,  miss,  but  you  look 
rosier  and  better  than  you  did  that  day." 

"  I  am  better,  thank  you,"  said  Sara,  "  and — and  I  am 
happier,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  do  something  for 
me." 

"  Me,  miss  !  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  "  why,  bless  you,  yes, 
miss  !     What  can  I  do  ?  " 

And  then  Sara  made  her  little  proposal,  and  the  woman 
listened  to  it  with  an  astonished  face. 

"  Why,  bless  me  ! "  she  said,  when  she  had  heard  it  all. 
"Yes,  miss,  it'll  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  do  it.  I  am  a  work- 
ing woman,  myself,  and  can't  afford  to  do  much  on  my  own  ac- 
count, and  there's  sights  of  trouble  on  every  side  ;  but  if  you'll 
excuse  me,  I'm  bound  to  say  I've  given  many  a  bit  of  bread 
away  since  that  wet  afternoon,  just  along  o'  thinkin'  of  you. 
An'  how  wet  an'  cold  you  was,  an'  how  you  looked, — an'  yet 
you  give  away  your  hot  buns  as  if  you  was  a  princess." 

The  Indian  Gentleman  smiled  involuntarily,  and  Sara 
smiled  a  little  too.  "  She  looked  so  hungry,"  she  said.  "  She 
was  hungrier  than  I  was." 

"  She  was  starving,"  said  the  woman.  "  Many's  the 
time  she's  told  me  of  it  since — how  she  sat  there  in  the 
wet,  and  felt  as  if  a  wolf  was  a-tearing  at  her  poor  young 
insides." 


82  SARA    CREWE;   OR, 

"Oh,  have  you  seen  her  since  then?"  exclaimed  Sara. 
"  Do  you  know  where  she  is  ?" 

"  I  know  !  "  said  the  woman.  "  Why,  she's  in  that  there 
back  room  now,  miss,  an'  has  been  for  a  month,  an'  a  de- 
cent, well-meaning  girl  she's  going  to  turn  out,  an'  such  a 
help  to  me  in  the  day  shop,  an'  in  the  kitchen,  as  you'd  scarce 
believe,  knowing  how  she's  lived." 

She  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  little  back  parlor  and  spoke  ; 
and  the  next  minute  a  eirl  came  out  and  followed  her  behind 
the  counter.  And  actually  it  was  the  beggar-child,  clean  and 
neatly  clothed,  and  looking  as  if  she  had  not  been  hungry  for 
a  long  time.  She  looked  shy,  but  she  had  a  nice  face,  now 
that  she  was  no  longer  a  savage  ;  and  the  wild  look  had  o^one 
from  her  eyes.  And  she  knew  Sara  in  an  instant,  and  stood 
and  looked  at  her  as  if  she  could  never  look  enough. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  woman,  "  I  told  her  to  come  here 
when  she  was  hungry,  and  when  she'd  come  I'd  give  her  odd 
jobs  to  do,  an'  I  found  she  was  willing,  an'  somehow  I  got  to 
like  her  ;  an'  the  end  of  it  was  I've  given  her  a  place  an'  a 
home,  an'  she  helps  me,  an'  behaves  as  well,  an'  is  as  thank- 
ful as  a  girl  can  be.      Her  name's  Anne — she  has  no  other." 

The  two  children  stood  and  looked  at  each  other  a  few 
moments.      In  Sara's  eyes  a  new  thought  was  growing. 

"I'm  glad  you  have  such  a  good  home,"  she  said.  "  Per- 
haps Mrs.  Brown  will  let  you  give  the  buns  and  bread  to  the 
children— perhaps  you  would  like  to  do  it — because  you  know 
what  it  is  to  be  hungry,  too." 


WHAT  HAPPENED   AT  MISS  MIJVCHIJV'S.  83 


"Yes,  miss,"'  said  the  girl. 

And  somehow  Sara  felt  as  if  she  understood  her,  though 
the  girl  said  nothing  more,  and  only  stood  still  and  looked, 
and  looked  after  her  as  she  went  out  of  the  shop  and  got 
into  the  carriage  and  drove  away. 


THE   END. 


FORTY-THIRD  THOUSAND. 


LITTLE    LORD    FAtiNTLEROY. 

By   FRANCES   HODGSON   BURNETT. 

"Beautifully  illustrated  by  R.  "B.  "Birch. 


One  volume,  square  8vo,  handsomely  bound, 


The  extraordinary  popularity  which  this  story  has  achieved 
is  a  mystery  only  to  those  who  have  not  read  it.  The  author 
has  presented  a  picture  of  child-life  such  as  we  have  never  had 
before  ;  she  has  not  only  taken  a  subject  quite  new  but  she 
has  written  with  such  exquisite  delicacy  and  sweetness  the 
story  of  the  little  American  boy's  career  that  even  were  the 
situations  old  the  story  would  be  a  notable  one.  The  character 
of    Fauntleroy  is  worthy  of  study  :  it  is,  without  a  suspicion 


of  the  goody-good,  the  most  winning  and 
lovable  that  we  have  among  all  the  boy 
heroes  in  our  literature.  Of  Mr.  Birch's 
illustrations  it  need  only  be  sa:d  that 
artistically  they  are  most  admirable,  but 
what  is  even  of  more  importance  they 
illustrate  the  text  in  the  best  sense. 

"  In  '  Little  Lord  Fauntleroy  '  we  gain  another 
charming  child  to  add  to  our  gallery  of  juvenile 
heroes  and  heroines  ;  one  who  teaches  a  great 
lesson  with  such  truth  and  sweetness,  that  we  part 
with  him  with  real  regret  when  the  episode  is 
over." — Louisa  M.  Alcott. 

"Nothing  could  have  been  more  happily  con- 
ceived than  the  notion  of  a  little  boy,  the  son  of  an 
English  earl's  younger  son ,  living  with  his  widowed 
American  mother  in  humble  circumstances  in  New 
York  ;  then,  by  the  death  of  relatives,  coming  into 
the  direct  succession  of  the  earldom,  and  carrying 
with  him  to  England  all  the  frank  simplicity,  kind- 
ness, and  indifference  to  caste  distinctions  which 
his  half-American  blood  and  wholly  American 
training  had  implanted  in  him." — GeorgeParsons 
Lathrop. 


SCRIBNER'S  HOOKS  FO\  THE  YOUNG. 


The  American  Girl's  Handy  Book 

HOW  TO  AMUSE  YOURSELF  AND  OTHERS. 

BY  LINA  AND  ADELIA  B.  BEARD. 
With  nearly  500  Illustrations  by  the  Authors. 


One  volume,  square  Svo, 


$3.00. 


Full  of  information  upon  the  thousand  and  one  things  that  interest  every  girl,  this  volume 
forms  a  notable  companion  to  the  book  for  boys  by  Daniel  C.  Beard,  brother  of  the  present 
authors,  published  last  year.  Everything  that  girls  want  to  know  about  their  sports,  games,  and 
winter  afternoon  and  evening  work,  is  told  clearly  and  simply  in  this  helpful  and  entertaining 
volume.  Beginning  with  April  Fool's  Day,  the  authors  take  their  readers  through  the  circuit  of 
the  year,  dwelling  upon  the  sports,  games,  etc.,  appropriate  to  each  season  and  to  all  the  holidays, 
and  furnishing  welcome  instruction  regarding  the  many  little  accomplishments  that  girls  like  to 

become   proficient   in.      The  volume  is  fully  and 

handsomely    illustrated    from    drawings    by    the 

authors,  whose  designs  are  in  the  best  sense  illus- 

*■  UfvtiT  f  /-»,  r  trative  of  the  text. 

Amuse 

Yourself 

and 
Others 


The:Amerigan:Girls 

•HANDY:B00K- 


BY 

Lina  Beard 
and 
AdeliaRBean 

■■    NewYork 
Charles 
ScribnerS 
K-  Sons 


SUMMARY  OF  CONTENTS. 

First  of  April — Wild  Flowers  and  Their 
Preservation — The  Walking  Club  —  Easter- 
Egg  Games — How  to  Make  a  Lawn -Tennis 
Net  —  May- Day  Sports  —  Midsummer- Eve 
Games  and  Sports — Sea-side  Cottage  Deco- 
ration— A  Girl's  Fourth  of  July — An  Impres- 
sion Album — Picnics,  Burgoos,  and  Corn- 
Roasts — Botany  as  applied  to  Art — Quiet 
Games  for  Hot  Weather — How  to  Make  a 
Hammock — Corn-Husk  and  Flower  Dolls — 
How  to  Make  Fans — All  Hallow  Eve — Na- 
ture's Fall  Decorations  and  how  to  Use  Them 
— Nutting  Parties — How  to  Draw,  Paint  in 
Oil-colors,  and  Model  in  Clay  and  Wax — China 
Painting— Christmas  Festivities,  and  Home- 
made Christmas  Gifts — Amusements  and 
Games  for  the  Holidays. 


FROM  THE   AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

One  of  our  objects  is  to  impress  upon  the  minds  of  the  girls  the  fact  that  they  all  possess  talent  and  ability  to 
achieve  more  than  they  suppose  possible,  and  we  would  encourage  a  belief  in  the  remark  made  by  a  famous  French- 
man :  "'  When  you  Americans  undertake  anything  you  never  stop  to  ascertain  if  it  be  possible,  you  simply  do  it. " 

We  desire  also  to  help  awaken  the  inventive  faculiy.  usually  uncultivated  in  girls,  and,  by  giving  detailed  methods 
of  new  work  and  amusement,  to  put  them  on  the  road  which  they  can  travel  and  explore  alone. 

We  know  well  the  feeling  of  hopelessness  wh  ch  accompanies  vague  directions,  and,  to  make  our  explanations 
plain  and  lucid,  we  have  ourselves,  with  very  few  exceptions,  made  all  of  the  articles,  played  the  games,  and  solved 
the  problems  described. 

The  materials  employed  in  the  construction  of  the  various  articles  are  within  easy  reach  of  all,  and  the  outlay,  i= 
most  cases,  little  or  nothing. 


SCRIBNER'S  'BOOKS  FOT{  THE  YOUNG. 


LIVING     LIGHTS. 

A  Papular  Account  cf  PhnephnrEBCEnt  Animale  and  VEgetablee. 


BY  CHARLES  F.  HOLDER. 

WITH 

28  full-page  Illustrations 


Square    8vo,    $2.00. 


Mr.  Holder  gives  in  this  book  a 
wonderful  fund  of  popular  and  en- 
tertaining facts  concerning  the  mys- 
terious light-giving  animals  and 
plants  of  the  sea  and  land.  Most 
of  his  information  is  fresh,  having 
been  acquired  by  his  personal  in- 
vestigation and  o.  servaiion,  and 
the  rtaders  of  the  volume  will  be 
surprised  to  learn  how  fascinating 
is  the  story  of  these  strange  forms 
of  life.  One  is  astonished  at  learn- 
ing the  number  of  light-giving  fish 
of  all  varieties  that  live  in  the  sea; 
and  what  could  be  more  interesting 
than  to  follow  the  discussion  as  to 
the  use  to  which  these  submarine 
lanterns  are  put  by  their  owners  ? 
Mr.  Holder  also  takes  one  among 
the  land  insects  that  hang  out  their 
lamps  at  nightfall,  explaining  how 
the  lights  are  generated  and  the  pe- 
culiar uses  to  which  they  are  put. 
The  author  writes  in  a  pleasant, 
easy  style,  giving  many  curious  and 
instructive  anecdotes,  based  upon 
his  personal  experiences,  which 
throw  additional  light  upon  the 
subjects  of  discussion,  and  the 
book  is  well  supplied  with  superb 
illustrations. 


I  -  -  mil 

BUI      K^r^M 

!;.,;/ 

f***    '&   / 

B            H^'J^i^h 

J    .  \    #!    • 

U:^  /fa  • 

jgmmm    ^ : 

Mr^;-^  .-v  -^^H0  tgm 

m^^^mm 

:{.'.  "V;y 

wMMmmMm 

.-:,';%:■/    ■■*•-'  ' 

i&ssana&js?           11 

V  -'»..''           1 

■■g^M^^M  Hi| 

H»illH  wh 

/     'VV'I       X 

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j&m&%m>      ■:    ■■■• 

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'■J^^\'^f<    '-■    ':>*' 

^..||C 

<BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 

MARVELS  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE. *       THE  IVORY  KING 


Square   8vo,    with  32  full-page   Illustrations, 
$2.00. 

"  One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  recent  publications. 
.  .  .  The  kind  of  book  that  ought  to  find  its  place  in 
libraries  for  boys  and  girls  of  a  thoughtful  and  inquiring 
turn  of  mind.  It  not  only  satisfies  a  healthful  curiosity 
but  it  furnishes  a  world  of  substantial  information."- — 
The  Christian   Union. 


A  popular  history  of  the  elephant  and  its  al- 
lies. Square  Svo,  with  24  full-page  Illus- 
trations, $2.00. 

"  The  bock  contains  a  surprising  mass  of  information, 
and  the  author  has  woven  the  whole  into  a  most  enter- 
taining narrative." — The  Chicago  Times. 


THE  ABOlfE   THREE  VOLUMES  IN  A  'BOX,  $6.00. 


SCRfBNER'S  'BOOKS  FO%  THE  YOUNG. 


THE  MAKING  OF  THE  GREAT  WEST. 


1512-1853. 

BY  SAMUEL  ADAMS  DRAKE. 

With  145  Illustrations  and  Maps. 


One  volume,   121110, 


Si.75 


Mr.  Drake's  volume  is  similar  in  purpose  to  his  other  popular  work, 
"  The  Making  of  New  England,"  and  like  that,  presents  in  a  clear  and 
attractive  form,  most  likely  to  hold  the  attention  of  the  young  readers 
for  whom  the  book  was  written,  as  well  as  to  interest  adults,  suggestive 
phases  of  historical  research  often  overlooked.  After  discussing  in 
detail  and  by  topics  the  original  explorations  of  the  Spaniards,  the 
French,  and  the  English,  the  author  traces  the  development  of  America 
as  a  nation  by  conquest,  annexation,  and  by  exploration.  The  volume 
is  admirably  arranged,  is  popular  in  style,  and  is  fully  illustrated. 

"  The  author's  aim  in  these  books  is  that  they  shall  occupy  a  place  between  the  larger  and  lesser  histories  of  the 
lands  and  the  periods  of  which  they  treat,  and  that  each  topic  therein  shall  be  treated  as  a  unit,  and  worked  out  to  a 
clear  understanding  of  its  objects  and  results  before  passing  to  another  topic.  In  the  furtherance  of  this  method  each 
•ufeject  has  its  own  descriptive  notes,  maps,  plans,  and  illustrations,  the  whole  contributing  to  a  thorough  though 
condensed  knowledge  of  the  subject  in  hand." — The  New  York  Mail  and  Express. 


BY   THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 


THE  MAKING  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 

1580-1643. 

With  148  Illustrations  and  Maps. 


One  volume,  121110,  $1.50. 


•*I  have  read 'The  Making  of  New  England,'  and  like  it 
exceedingly.  The  matter  is  well  chosen  and  well  arranged. 
I  particularly  like  the  presentation  of  the  various  minor  settle- 
ments between  the  coming  of  the  Pilgrims  and  the  great 
Massachusetts  Emigration — a  matter  of  which  many  people 
are  almost  ignorant.  The  picture  of  early  colonial  life  is  clear 
and  excellent." — Feancis  Parkman. 

"The  book  seems  to  me  admirably  adapted  for  its  purpose, 
and  tells  the  story  of  our  fathers'  migration  and  settlement 
in  the  most  lucid  way." — Prof.  H.  B.  Adams,  Johns  Hopkins 
University. 


FIRST   CHURCH  OF  BOSTON. 


SCR/BNER'S  'BOOKS  FOX   THE  YOUNG. 


A  NEW  EDITION. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


KIDNAPPED. 


Being  Memoirs  of  the  Adventures  of  David  Balfour  in  the  year  1751, 

BY     ROBERT    LOUIS     STEVENSON. 
With  16  full-page  Illustrations. 


One  volume,  1 21110, 
$1.25. 


"Mr.  Stevenson  has  never  appeared 
to  greater  advantage  than  in  '  Kid- 
napped.' .  .  .  No  better  book  of  its 
kind  than  those  'Memoirs  of  the  Adven- 
tures of  David  Balfour '  has  ever  been 
written." — The  Nation. 

"The  suggestion  and  comparison 
with  the  immortal  works  of  the  author 
of  'Waverly, '  in  scenery,  style  and  char- 
acters natural,  and  indeed  inevitable. 
It  is  no  small  praise  to  say  that  the 
book  is  meritoriously  high  even  on  this 
standard.'' — The  Boston  Post.    I 

"  Mr.  Stevenson  is  a  master  of  lan- 
guage, and  cultivates  assiduously  those 
phrases  which  are  known  as  idiomatic. 
Often  blunt  and  direct  of  speech,  he 
imagines  every  scene,  conversation,  and 
event  with  such  clearness,  that  he  can 
so  bring  it  before  us  as  to  make  it 
perfectly  real.  He  rejoices  in  a  train  of 
exciting  incidents,  and  has  no  other 
object  than  to  follow  it  out  and  make 
his  characters  appear  as  real  as  the 
incidents.  Yet  there  is  a  daintiness  of 
touch,  a  dreamy  freedom  of  invention 
in  his  amiable  fabrications  which  lend 
them  a  charm  somewhat  more  ideal 
than  that  of  Defoe." — George  Parsons 
Lathrop. 


A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES. 


One  volume,  121110,  Gilt  Top, 


$1.00. 


"These  verses  are  simply  exquisite.  They  are  the 
child's  thought  in  the  child's  language,  and  yet  altogether 
poetical.  We  do  not  know  anything  in  the  whole  range 
of  English  literature  to  equal  them  in  their  own  peculiar 
charm.  There  is  a  subtle  beauty  in  them  which  is  in- 
describable and  unequalled." — The  Churchman. 

"  A  more  exquisite  and  dainty  art  than  Mr.  Steven- 
son's has  not  come  to  the  service  of  children  and  their 
interpretation." — The  Springfield  Republican. 


"To  our  thinking,  Mr.  Stevenson  has  made  a  book 
which  will  become  a  classic  in  the  not  overcrowded  field 
of  children's  poetry." — The  Brooklyn  Union. 

"A  dainty  little  volume  crowded  with  gems  which  will 
be  appreciated  by  children.  Mr.  Stevenson  has  caught 
the  spirit  of  childhood,  and  his  little  songs  are  elegant, 
graceful,  appropriate,  and  musical."—  The  Chicago  In- 
ter-Ocean. 


SCRIBNER'S  'BOOKS  FO\  THE  YOUNG. 


THE  BOY'S  LIBRARY  OF  PLUCK  AND  ACTION. 


Four  volumes,  i2mo,  in  a  box,  illustrated, 
Sold  separately,  price  per  volume, 


$5.00 
1.50 


A 


Jolly  Fellowship. 

BY  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 


HANS    BRINKER; 

OR,    THE    silver    skates. 

A  Story  of  Life  in  Holland. 
BY  MRS.  MARY  MAPES  DODGE. 


THE 


Boy  Emigrants. 

BY  NOAH  BROOKS. 


Phaeton   Rogers. 

BY  ROSSITER  JOHNSON. 

In  the  "  Boys  Library  of  Pluck  and  Action,"  the  design  was  to  bring  together  the 
sentative  and  most  popular  books  of  four  of  the  best  known  writers  for  young  people, 
volumes  are  beautifully  illustrated  and  uniformly  bound  in  a  most  attractive  form. 


repre- 
The 


Illustrated  library  of  travel. 


Per  set,  six  volumes,  121110,  $6.00. 

Sold  separately,  per  volume 


BY  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

Each  with  many  illustrations. 


Si. 25. 


JAPAN  IN  OUR  DAY. 
TRAVELS  IN  ARABIA. 
TRAVELS  IN  SOUTH  AFRICA. 
CENTRAL  ASIA. 
THE  LAKE  REGION  OF  CENTRAL 

AFRICA. 
SIAM,  THE  LAND  OF  THE  WHITE 

ELEPHANT. 

Each  volume  is  complete  in  itself,  and. 
contains,  first,  a  brief  preliminaiy  sketch  of 
the  country  to  which  it  is  devoted  ;  next,  such 
an  outline  of  previous  explorations  as  may  be 
necessary  to  explain  what  has  been  achieved 
by  later  ones  ;  and  finally,  a  condensation  o' 
one  or  more  of  the  most  important  narratives  of  recent  travel,  accompanied  with  illustrations  of 
ihe  scenery,  architecture,  and  life  of  the  races,  drawn  only  from  the  most  authentic  sources. 

"  Authenticated  accounts  of  countries,  peoples,  modes  of  living  and  being,  curiosities  in  natural  history,  and 
personal  adventure  in  travels  and  explorations,  suggest  a  rich  fund  of  solid  instruction  combined  with  delightful 
entertainment.  The  editorship  by  one  of  the  most  observant  and  well  travelled  men  of  modern  times,  at  once  secures- 
the  high  character  of  the  '  Library '  in  every  particular,"—  The  Sunday  School  Times. 


SCRIBNERS  "BOOKS  FOX   7HE  YOUNG. 


A   NEW  AND  CHEAPER  EDITION  IN   THREE  PARTS. 

JULES     VERNE'S     GREATEST     WORK. 

"THE  EXPLORATION  OF  THE  WORLD." 

"  M,  Verne's  scheme  in  this  work  is  to  tell  fully  how  man  has  made 
acquaintance  with  the  world  in  which  he  lives,  to  combine  into  a  single 
work  in  three  volumes  the  wonderful  stories  of  all  the  great  explorers, 
navigators,  and  travellers,  who  have  sought  out,  one  after  another,  the 
once  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth." — The  New  York  Evenirg  Post. 


The  three  vols,  in  a  set,  $7.50 ;    singly,  $2.50. 


FAMOUS  TRAVELS  AND  TRAVELLERS. 

With  over  100  full-page  Illustrations,  Maps,  etc.,  8vo,  $2.50 

THE  GREAT  NAVIGATORS  OF  TEE  XVIIITH  CENTURY. 

With  96  full-page  Illustrations  and  Nineteen  Maps,  8vo,  $2. 50 

THE  GREAT  EXPLORERS  OF  THE  XIXTH  CENTURY. 

With  over  too  full-page  Illus'ns,  Fac-similes,  etc.,  8vo,  $2.50 


"  The  Prince  of  Story  Tellers.'''1 — The  London  Times. 

JULES     VERNE'S     STORIES. 

UNIFORM  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION. 

q  vols.,  8vo,  extra  cloth,  with  over  750  full-page  Illustrations. 
Price,  per  set,  in  a  box,       .........      $17.50. 

Sold  also  in  separate  volumes. 


Michael  Strogoff ;  or,  The  Courier  of 

the  Czar $2.00 

A  Floating  City  and  the  Blockade 

Runners 2.00 

Hector  Servadac. 2.00 

Dick  Sands 2.00 

A  Journey  to  the  Centre  of  the  Earth.    2  00 


From  the  Earth  to  the  Moon  Direct 
in  Ninety-seven  Hours,  Twenty 
Minutes  ;    and  a  Journey  Around 

it .$2.00 

The  Steam  House 2.00 

The  Giant  Raft 2.00 

The  Mysterious  Island 2.50 


SCR/BNER'S  'BOOKS  FOT{  THE  YOUNG. 


Tre  merry 
adventures  of  r0bin  hoob. 

Of  Great   Renown  in   Nottinghamshire. 

WRITTEN   AND    ILLUSTRATED   BY 

HOWARD  PYLE. 


One  volume,  quarto,  full  embossed  leather,  $4.50;  cloth, 


$3.00. 


In  this  book,  undoubtedly  the  most  original  and  elaborate  ever  produced  by  an  American 
artist,  Mr.  Pyle  has  gathered  Irom  the  old  ballads  and  legends,  and  told  with  pencil  and  pen,  the 
complete  and  consecutive  story  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  men  in  their  haunts  in  Sherwood 
forest.  There  is  something  thoroughly  English  and  home-bred  in  these  episodes  in  the  life  of 
the  bold  outlaw.  His  sunny,  open-air  nature,  his  matchless  skill  at  archery,  his  generous  dispo- 
sition, his  love  of  fair  play,  and  his  ever-present  courtesy  to  women,  form  a  picture  that  has  no 
counterpart  in  the  folk-lore  of  any  other  people. 


"  Mr.  Pyle  has  taken  the  most  characteristic  of  these  old  ballads,  and  has  turned  them  into 
his  own  fresh,  simple,  idiomatic  prose,  and  has  illustrated  them  as  no  other  man  in  America 
could  have  done." — New  York  Mail  "id  Express. 


SCR/BNER'S  'BOOKS  FOT{   THE  YOUNG. 


A    NEW    EDITION    AT    REDUCED     PRICE. 


THE 


AMERICAN  BOY'S  Hanby  BOOK 


OR,  WHAT  TO    DO   AND    HOW   TO   DO   IT. 

BY  DANIEL  C.  BEARD. 


One  volume,  octavo,  fully  Illustrated  by  the  Author, 


$2.00. 


Mr.  Beard's  book  is  the  first  to  tell  the  active,  inventive  and  practical  American  boy  the  things 
he  really  wants  to  know;  the  thousand  things  he  wants  to  do,  and  the  ten  thousand  ways  in 
which  he  can  do  them,  with  the  helps  and  ingenious  contrivances  which  every  boy  can  either 
procure  or  make.  The  author  divides  the  book  among  the  sports  of  the  four  seasons  ;  and  he 
has  made  aD  almost  exhaustive  collection  of  the  cleverest  modern  devices,  besides  himself 
inventing  an  immense  number  of  capital  and  practical  ideas. 


SUMMARY  OF  CONTENTS. 

Kite  Time — War  Kites — Novel  Modes  of 
Fishing — Home-made  Fishing  Tackle — How 
to  Stock,  Make  and  Keep  a  Fresh-Water 
Aquarium — How  to  Stock  and  Keep  a  Ma- 
rine Aquarium — Knots,  Bends  and  Hitches — 
Dredge,  Tangle  and  Trawl  Fishing — Home- 
made Boats — How  to  Rig  and  Sail  Small 
Boats— How  to  Camp  Out  Without  a  Tent 

—  How  to  Rear  Wild  Birds  —  Home-made 
Hunting  Apparatus — Traps  and  Trapping — 
Dogs  —  Practical  Taxidermy  for  Boys  — 
Snow  Houses  and  Statuary — Winged  Skaters 

—  Winter  Fishing  —  Indoor  Amusements  — 
How  to  Make  a  Magic  Lantern — Puppet 
Shows — Home-made  Masquerade  and  The- 
atrical Costumes — With  many  other  subjects 
of  a  kindred  nature. 


t«e:ameri6aks0ts 
*Hand]tcBook* 

BY 

.CBear 


Newark 


Charles     ]/. 
Scribnersfcf 


"  It  is  the  memory  of  the  longing  that  used  to  possess  myself  and  my  boy  friends  of  a  few  years  ago  for  a  real 
practical  American  boy's  book  that  has  induced  me  to  offer  this  volume.  Of  course  such  a  book  cannot,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  be  exhaustive,  nor  is  it,  indeed,  desirable  that  it  should  be.  Its  use  and  principal  purpose  are  to  stimulate 
the  inventive  faculties  in  boys,  to  bring  them  face  to  face  with  practical  emergencies  when  no  book  can  supply  the 
place  of  their  own  common  sense  and  the  exercise  of  personal  intelligence  and  ingenuity." — From  the  Author's 
Preface. 

"  Each  particular  department  is  minutely  illustrated,  and  the  whole  is  a  complete  treasury,  invaluable  not  only 
•to  the  boys  themselves,  but  to  parents  and  guardians  who  have  at  heart  their  happiness  and  healthful  development 
of  mind  and  muscle." — Pittsburgh  Telegraph. 

"  The  boy  who  has  learned  to  play  all  the  games  and  make  all  the  toys  of  which  it  teaches,  has  unconsciously 
exercised  the  inventive  faculty  that  is  in  him,  has  acquired  skill  with  his  hands,  and  has  become  a  good  mechanic 
and  an  embryo  inventor  without  knowing  it." — Milwaukee  Evening  Wisconsin. 


SCR/BNER'S  'BOOKS  FOT{  THE  YOUNG. 


A  STORY  OF   THE   GOLDEN   AGE. 

BY  JAMES  BALDWIN. 

With  a  Series  of  Superb  Full-page  Illustrations  by 
Howard  Pyle. 


One  volume,  square   121110,  $2.00. 


In  this  book  the  author  turns  from  the  Northern  myths  and  Me- 
diaeval romances  which  engaged  his  attention,  respect  vely,  in  "The 
Story  of  Siegfried"  and  "The  Story  of  Roland,"  and  seeks  to  interest 
young  people  in  the  Homeric  poems  by  weaving  into  a  continuous 
narrative  the  legends  relating  to  the  causes  of  the  I  rojan  War.  Thus 
the  romantic  and  stirring  events  which  led  to  that  War  are  set  forth  in 
a  form  mi  st  attractive  to  young  people,  and  of  no  little  interest  to 
their  elders  as  well.  Mr.  Pyle's  illustrations  are  of  extraordinary 
beauty,  revealing  grace,  spirit,  and  vigor  in  the  drawing  and  being 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  antique  flavor  of  the  story. 


THE  STORY  OF  SIEGFRIED. 


BY  JAMES  BALDWIN. 
With  a  Series  of  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle. 


One  volume,  square  i2ino,  $2.00. 


"To  wise  parents  who  strive,  as  all  parents  should  do,  to  regulate  and  supervise 
their  children's  reading,  this  book  is  most  earnestly  commended.  Would  there  were 
more  of  its  type  and  excellence.  It  has  our  most  hearty  approval  and  recommendation 
in  every  way,  not  only  for  beauty  of  illustration,  which  is  of  the  highest  order,  but 
for  the  fascinating  manner  in  which  the  old  Norse  legend  is  told." — The  Churchman. 

"  No  more  delightful  reading  for  the  young  can  be  imagined  than  that  provided 
in  this  interesting  book." — The  Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


THE  STORY  OF  ROLAND. 


BY  JAMES  BALDWIN. 
With  a  Series  of  Illustrations  by  R.  B.  Birch. 


One  volume,  square  121110,  $2.00. 


"  Mr.  Baldwin  enjoys  his  task  and  puts  it  before  his  readers  so  crisply  and 
vividly  that  his  boys'  bookis  good  meat  for  men." — The  New  York  Times. 

"  The  story  is  told  in  the  simple  language  of  the  old  legends  and  will  be  Tead 
with  keen  interest  by  youth  who  enjoy  the  romanct  of  history  without  its  wearisome 
details.  There  is  no  modern  language  in  which  the  exploits  of  Charlemagne  and 
Roland  have  not  been  told.  Prof.  Baldwin  here  presents  them  for  the  first  time  to 
our  American  youth  in  a  form  which  is  sure  to  entertain  and  instruct  his  readers." 
—  The  Boston  Herald. 

THE  ABOVE   THREE   VOLUMES  IN  A  BOX.  $6.oo- 


SCRIBNER'S  -BOOKS  FO%  THE  YOUNG. 


THE  MODERN  VIKINGS. 

Stories  of  Life  and  Sport  in  the  Norseland. 

BY    HJALMAR   H.  BOYESEN. 
With    many  full-page    Illustrations. 


One    Volume,    121110, 
$2.00. 


Every  boy  who  enjoys 
reading  stories  of  adventure 
and  of  hair- breadth  escapes 
from  all  kinds  of  perils  on 
sea  and  land  will  want  to 
possess  a  copy  of  this  book, 
in  which  Professor  Boyesen 
has  pictured  some  of  the 
novel  and  exciting  incidents 
in  boys'  lives  in  Norway, 
Iceland,  and  other  regions 
of  the  Norseland.  The 
cold,  invigorating  air  of  the 
North  blows  through  these 
pages,  but  warm,  red  blood 
runs  in  the  veins  of  the 
brave  lads  who  are  the  he- 
roes of  the  tales.  Whether 
they  are  beset  by  wolves, 
are  suspended  by  a  single 
strand  of  rope  'twixt  sky 
and  sea,  are  buried  beneath 
the  snow  with  starvation 
staring  at  them,  are  fishing 
for  salmon  with  a  tame 
otter,  or  are  wrecked  on  a 
rocky  coast,  the  boys  will 
be  sure  to  follow  their  fort- 
unes with  zest  and  the 
keenest  pleasure.  The  vigor 
and  the  spirit  of  the  narra- 
tives are  happily  matched 
by  similar  qualities  in  the 
numerous  full- page  illustra- 
tions in  the  book. 


BETWEEN  SEA  AND  SKY. 


CONTENTS: 

Tharald's  Otter— Between  Sea  and  Sky—  Mikkel— The  Famine  Among  the  Gnomes— How  Bernt 
Went  Whaling— The  Cooper  and  the  Wolves— Magnie's  Dangerous  Ride— Thorwald  and  the  Star 
Children— Big  Hans  and  Little  Hans— A  New  Winter  Sport— The  Skerry  of  Shrieks— Fiddle -John's 
Family. 


SCRJBNER'S  "BOOKS  FOTi  THE  YOUNG. 


CHILDREN'S  STORIES  OF  AMERICAN  PROGRESS. 

BY    HENRIETTA   CHRISTIAN   WRIGHT. 
With  twelve  full-page  Illustrations  from  Drawings  by  J.   Steeple  Davis. 


One  volume,  i2mo, 


gi-50. 


Miss  Wright 
in  dealing  with 
the  remote  and 
partially  legend- 
ary episodes  of 
the  earlier  his- 
tory of  our  coun- 
try in  her  Chil- 
dren's Stories  in 
A  merica  n  His- 
tory displayed  a 
remarkable  tal- 
ent for  vivid  and 
picturesque  nar- 
ration ,  which  in- 
sures for  her  new 
volume  a  cordial 
reception. 

"The  Stories 
of  A  m  eric  an 
Progresscontain 
a  series  of  pic- 
tures of  events 
of  the  first  half 
of  the  present 
century,  and  the 
scope  of  the  book 
comprehends  all 
the  prominent 
steps  by  which 
we  have  reached 
our  present 
position  both  as  regards  extent  of  country  and  industrial  prosperity.  They  include  an  account  of  the  first  Steam- 
boat, the  Railroad,  and  the  Telegraph,  as  well  as  of  the  purchase  of  Florida,  the  War  of  1812,  and  the  discovery 
of  Gold.  It  will  be  found  that  no  event  of  importance  has  been  omi  ted  and  any  child  fond  of  story  telling  will 
gain  from  these  two  books  an  amount  of  knowledge  which  may  far  exceed  that  which  is  usually  acquired  from  the 
rigid  instruction  of  the  School-room  " 

CHILDREN'S  STORIES  IN  AMERICAN   HISTORY. 

BY    HENRIETTA   CHRISTIAN   WRIGHT. 
With  twelve  full-page  Illustrations  from  Drawings  by  J.    Steeple  Davis. 
One  volume,  i2mo,  .  .  .  .  .  ■       •   . 


$1.50. 


"To  the  teacher  or  parent  endeavoring  to  convey  to  her  pupil's  understanding  the  fact  that  there  is  some- 
thing worth  remembering  about  America  before  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  the  Children's  Stories  will  prove  a 
boon.  Sketches  of  the  Mound  Builders,  of  De  Soto,  of  Columbus,  Cortes,  Pocahontas  and  Pizarro,  so  clearly  and 
charmingly  told  as  these,  will  surely  rivet  the  attention  of  a  little  leader  even  when  there  is  a  book  of  fairy  tales 
to  follow." — Mrs.  Burton  Harrison. 


SCRWNER'S  "BOOKS  FO%  THE  YOUNG. 


THE  B0Y'S 
LIBRARY  OF  L?EGENB  &  CHIVALRY 

EDITED  BY  SIDNEY  LANIER, 
And  Richly  Illustrated  by  Fredericks,  Bensell,  and  Kappes. 


Four  volumes,  cloth,  uniform  binding,  price,  per  set, 
Sold  separately,  price,  per  volume, 

Mr.  Lanier's  books,  in  which  he  presents  to  boy 
readers  the  old  English  classics  of  history  and 
legend  in  such  attractive  form,  are  now  issued  in 
four  uniform  volumes,  well  made  and  well  illus- 
trated. While  they  are  stories  of  action  and  stir- 
ring incident,  which  make  them  extremely  exciting, 
they  teach  those  lessons  which  manly,  honest  boys 
ought  to  learn.  The  oath  of  the  young  fourteenth 
century  knight  made  him  vow  to  speak  the  truth, 
to  perform  a  promise  to  the  utmost,  to  reverence 
all  women,  to  maintain  right  and  honesty,  to  help 
the  weak,  to  treat  high  and  low  with  courtesy,  to  be 
fair  to  a  bitter  foe,  and  to  pursue  simplicity,  mod- 
esty and  gentleness  of  heart  and  bearing ;  and  the 
nineteenth  century  knight  is  he  who  takes  the  same 
oath  of  fidelity  to  truth,  honesty  and  purity  of 
heart.  The  illustrations  are  full  of  fire  and  spirit, 
and  add  very  much  to  one's  enjoyment  of  the  book. 


$7.00.. 
$2.00, 


THE  BOY'S  KING  ARTHUR. 

Being  Sir  Thomas  Maluory's  History  of  King  Arthur 
and  His  Knights  of  the  Round  Table. 


THE  BOY'S  FROISSART. 

Being  Sir  John  Froissart's  Chronicles  of  Adventure, 
Battle,  and  Custom  in  England,  France,  Spain,  Etc. 


THE  BOY'S  PERCY. 


KNIGHTLY  LEGENDS   OF   WALES; 
OR,  THE  BOY'S  MABINOGION. 


"Amid  all  the  strange  and  fanciful  scenery  of -these  stones,  character  and  the  ideals  of  characte^main^ at  the- 
simplest  and  purest.     The  romantic  h  story  transpires  in  the  healthy  atmosphere  of  the  open  air  on  the  green  earth 
breath  the  open  sky.     *     *     *    The  figures  of  Right,  Truth,  Justice   Honor,  Purity,  Courage   Reverence  for  Law 
are  always  in  the  background  ;  and  the  grand  passion  inspired  by  the  book  is  for  strength  to  do  well  and  nobly  :» 

the  world." — The  Independent.  .      ,,.  ,  ■  1  ..      r>    u-  n~„**+* 

"  It  is  quite  the  beau  ideal  of  a  book  for  a  present  to  an  intelligent  boy  or  girl.   —Baltimore  Gazette. 


SCRIBMER'S  "BOOKS  FOX  THE  YOUNG. 


STOCKTON'S  P9Ptil2AR  STORIES. 


' '  Stockton  has  the  knack,  perhaps  genius  would  be  a  better  word,  of  writing  in  the  easiest  of 
colloquial  English  without  descending  to  the  plane  of  the  vulgar  or  common-place.  The  very 
perfection  of  his  work  hinders  the  reader  from  perceiving  at  once  how  good  of  its  kind  it  is.  *  * 
With  the  added  charm  of  a  most  delicate  humor — a  real  humor,  mellow,  tender,  and  informed  by 
a  singularly  qitaint  and  racy  fancy — his  stories  become  irresistibly  attractive." — Philadelphia 
Times. 


THE  STORY  OF  VITEAU. 

With  sixteen  full-page  illustrations  by  R.  B.  Birch. 
One  volume,  i2mo,  extra  cloth,         -         -         -         $1.50. 


A  JOLLY  FELLOWSHIP. 

One  volume,  i2mo,  illustrated,  extra  cloth, 


$1.50. 


NEW  EDITIONS  OF  OLD  FA  VORITES. 


THE    FLOATING    PRINCE, 
and  OTHER  FAIRY  TALES. 
With  illustrations  by  Bensell  and  others.     One  volume, 
quarto,  boards.      Price  reduced  to       -         -         $1.50. 


ROUNDABOUT  RAMBLES  IN  LANDS   OF 
FACT   AND   FICTION. 

One  volume,  quarto,  boards,  with  very  attractive  litho- 
graphed cover,  370  pages,  200  illustrations.  A  new 
edition.     Price  reduced  from  $3.00  to         -         $1.50. 


5PJ1    TALES  OUT  OF  SCHOOL. 

One  volume,  quarto,  boards,  with  hand- 
some lithographed  cover,  350  pages 
nearly  200  illustrations.  A  newedition 
Price  reduced  from  $3.00  to  $1.50 


THE  TING-A-LING  TALES. 

Illustrated  by  E.  Bensell. 
One  volume,  i2mo,       -  $1.00. 


SCRIBNER'S  'BOOKS  FOT{  THE  YOUNG. 

Twe  JUVENILES -by  EBV ARD  EGGI2EST0N 


THE  HOOSIER  SCHOOL-BOY. 

one  volume,  i2mo.   Witli  full-page  illustrations. 


Jl.on, 


"  NOT  THERE,  NOT  THERE,  MY  CHILD  !  ' 


Mr.  Eggleston  is  one  of  the  very  few  American  writers  who  have  succeeded  in  giving  to 
their  work  a  genuine  savor  of  the  soil,  a  distinctively  American  Character.  The  scene  of  his 
stories  is  the  Western  Reserve,  and  the  characters  are  types  of  the  early  part  of  this  century,  in 
the  territory  now  comprised  in  Indiana  and  Ohio.  The  Hoosier  School-boy  depicts  some  charac- 
teristics of  boy  life,  years  ago,  on  the  Ohio,  characteristics,  however,  that  were  not  peculiar  to  the 
section  only.  The  story  presents  a  vivid  and  interesting  picture  of  the  difficulties  which  in  those 
days  beset  the  path  of  the  youth  aspiring  for  an  education. 

"Nobody  has  pictured  boy-life  with  greater  power  or  more  fidelity  than  Mr.  Eggleston,    This  story  is  one  of  his 
best — it  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  boy." — Hartford  Times. 


QUEER  STORIES  FOR  BOYS   AND   GIRLS. 

One  volume,  iamo,         ...-..____         $1.00. 

This  is  a  book  of  such  stories  as  all  boys  and  girls  like  to  tell  and  to  hear,  and  yet  they 
contain  as  much  wisdom  and  as  many  lessons  of  good  conduct,  of  noble  bearing  and  of  self- 
respecting  independence,  as  might  be  contained  in  volumes  of  sermons  and  reams  of  '  'good 
advice,"  that  would  not  penetrate  skin  deep  nor  remain  five  minutes  in  the  memory  of  the  young; 
people  who  were  aimed  at. 


SCR/BNER'S  'BOOKS  FOT{  THE  YOUNG. 


WHITE  COCKADES 


AN   INCIDENT   OF   THE      FORTY-FIVE." 

BY   EDWARD   IREN^EUS   STEVENSON. 


One  volume,  121110, 


$x.oo. 


A  Scotch  story  of  the  Second  Rebellion  of  the  Jacobites,  replete 
with  exciting  incidents,  and  told  in  a  manner  remarkable  for  its 
freshness  and  vigor.  A  refugee,  who  is  supposed  to  be  a  young  Jaco- 
bite nobleman,  but  who  turns  out  to  be  something  very  different,  is 
the  hero  of  some  strange  adventures  in  the  house  of  an  honest  Highland 
Jacobite,  where  he  has  secured  shelter  from  his  pursuers.  A  vivid  and 
faithful  picture  is  given  of  the  conflicts  between  the  King's  soldiers 
and  the  rebellious  Highlanders,  which,  with  the  narrow  escape  of  the 
disguised  refugee,  and  other  stirring  incidents,  make  up  a  tale  'hat 
every  boy  will  heartily  enjoy.  One  is  carried  irresistibly  to  the  con- 
clusion of  the  romance  by  the  art  of  the  author,  the  nervous  energy  of 
whose  narrative  is  in  the  happiest  accord  with  the  rapid  action  anV 
dramatic  arrangement  of  the  stcry. 


A  U^EIV  zAND   CHEAPER  EDITION. 

MY  KALULU. 

Prince,  King,  and  Slave.      A  Story  of  Central  Africa. 

BY    HENRY    M.   STANLEY. 


One  volume,  121110,  with  many  Illustrations,  $1.50. 


Mr.  Stanley's  African  romance  for  boys  is  based  upon  knowledge 
acquired  during  his  journey  in  search  of  Dr.  Livingstone,  which  began 
in  1871  and  ended  in  1872.  It  is  a  fascinating  story  of  strange  scenes, 
incidents,  and  adventures  among  the  tribes  of  Central  Africa,  and  of 
encounters  with  the  wild  animals  that  make  their  home  there.  One  feat- 
ure of  the  book  is  its  vivid  description  of  the  evils  of  the  Slave  trade. 
The  popularity  of  the  story  was  great,  and  as  it  has  been  out  of  print, 
the  publishers  have  issued  a  new  and  cheaper  edition,  which  will  no 
doubt  meet  with  the  same  hearty  reception  accorded  to  the  first. 


"  A  fresh,  breezy,  stirring  story  for  youths,  interesting  in  itself  and  full  of  information  regarding  life  in  the 
interior  of  the  continent  in  which  its  scenes  are  laid." — The  New  York   Times. 

"  If  the  young  reader  is  fond  of  strange  adventures,  he  will  find  enough  in  this  volume  to  delight  him  all  winter, 
and  he  will  be  hard  to  please  who  is  not  charmed  by  its  graphic  pages." — The  Boston  Journal. 


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